Into the Blue
by half agony and hope
Summary: The rational thing to do—the safe thing to do—would be to walk away from Jane as though this moment had never happened. The stakes were already high enough now with Red John so close, and tensions were escalating between them both. But despite all that—or perhaps because of it—Lisbon was tired of rationality, of reason, and of safety. Post Red John's Rules.
1. Chapter 1: A Dark and Endless Abyss

**AN: ****Hey Mentalistas! This story takes place after the season 5 finale and diverges from the show's canon at that point. I wanted to explore that finale because a lot of fans were vastly underwhelmed by it. When I watched it again I realized that at this point in the show, Lisbon and Jane have some understanding of what the other really feels for them but obviously can't act on it because of Red John. This multichapter story will play with that idea a bit, and eventually it will explore how this effects The Mentalist 2.0. Hope you guys like it!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

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><p>Chapter 1: A Dark and Endless Abyss<p>

"_You've changed the game, so there's new rules now.  
>Eileen Turner is the first of many.<br>I'm going to start killing again.  
>Often.<br>Until you catch me or I catch you."_

He held the compact disc tightly, and his fingers closed in a death grip. Lisbon had a sudden mental image of those same fingers around the neck of Red John. Before, Jane's tormentor had always been faceless, a man without an identity. Now, the seven faces flashed quickly in her mind, one after the other, Jane's fingers around each of their necks.

The disc shattered.

Lisbon looked up at him, horrified. Horrified at her vision—but also at the words Red John had forced Lorelei to read. Jane turned to face the window, turning away from the shards now littering the floor.

She tried to form words then realized after about a minute that she didn't know what she would say even if she could speak. Instead, she stood up slowly and walked to Jane's side. Not knowing what else to do, she settled on standing close to him, the length of their arms barely touching. Hesitantly, she touched his hand, worried he would retreat again inside himself.

He didn't pull away.

They stood like that, in direct contact, for some time before Lisbon felt something on her hand. Startled, she looked down. Blood, oozing scarlet, was running down her palm.

Jane looked at her woefully. "Sorry," he said, raising his left hand to reveal the source of the blood. "Must've cut it on the disc."

Lisbon gave him a reproaching look and motioned for him to sit on the makeshift bed. "I'll be right back," she said softly, heading downstairs. She returned minutes later with her purse to find Jane seated on the bed, jacket off and sleeves rolled up, and she sat next to him.

"My mom was a nurse," she said gently as she began to dig through her belongings. "She told me to always keep some bandages with me."

"—and with three brothers to look after, it became habit," finished Jane, his tone matching hers.

Lisbon gave him a half smile and pulled out a small packet of alcohol pads, some gauze, and medical tape. She held out her right hand to him, still covered with his blood, and he set his hand in hers. Lisbon looked at it closely. Though the cut was longer than she'd originally thought, spanning diagonally across his palm, it wasn't very deep.

"Please don't tell me this is going to sting a bit," said Jane.

She opened up the packet of alcohol pads, took one out, and swiped it across his hand quickly but gingerly. He hissed as the disinfectant made its way into the cut. "Alright," quipped Lisbon. "I won't tell you."

She placed the gauze on his hand and proceeded to wrap the medical tape around the makeshift bandage. "I'm going to leave this with you," Lisbon said, indicating to the first aid supplies, "since God knows you won't take the time to get any of this for yourself."

Jane shrugged, his hand still in hers. "Where would I be if I didn't have you, Lisbon, to patch me up every time I break something?" His tone was joking, but his face was serious as he lifted his eyes to hers. He flipped their hands over, so that his was the one supporting hers, and his other hand pushed her sleeve up to reveal the cast underneath.

His eyes darkened, as though it had finally occurred to him that though Lisbon was his protector, he wasn't doing a very good job of doing the same for her. "What really happened to your wrist, Lisbon?" he asked gently.

Lisbon sighed. "I _did _trip. Really."

"But you're leaving out part of the story."

"Yeah, the part that you don't need to know."

Her hand was now sandwiched between his larger, warmer ones. Lisbon dropped her eyes, not being able to maintain contact with his intense blue stare.

"Ah," said Jane, and he retreated a bit with realization. "Last week, the hostage situation—I was supposed to be there to help negotiate."

"You've been busy following a Red John lead—"

"I've been a jackass. I blew you off."

"You being there might not have changed anything."

"You might not have broken your wrist."

"You can't know that."

"I'm sorry."

Lisbon was almost too engrossed in their argument to comprehend that they were no longer arguing. She couldn't remember the last time Jane had apologized to her—and looked like he meant it. Lisbon met his repentant gaze, mouth slightly open in surprise. His next words astonished her.

"Is there something I can do to make it up to you?"

She shifted positions on the bed, drawing her legs up off the floor to sit cross-legged across from him. Jane held her gaze. She couldn't believe it—he was serious. She could ask for absolutely anything from him now, and she had no doubt he would give it to her.

Possibilities flooded her mind, each of them more game-changing than the last. The rational thing to do—the safe thing to do—would be to walk away as though this moment had never happened. After all, it seemed as though they'd come to a truce of sorts; there was no need to mess with that delicate balance. And the stakes were already high enough now with Red John so close—tensions were escalating between them both. But despite all that—or perhaps because of it—Lisbon was tired of rationality, of reason, and of safety. So she plunged into the blue.

"Yes," she said. "You can tell me the truth."

Jane started to make a face she knew all too well, a face of feigned confusion, but must have realized it. He quickly fixed his features back to neutral. "What do you want to know?"

"I want to have a conversation," said Lisbon, all too aware that their injured hands were still intertwined. "And everything that comes out of your mouth must be the absolute truth."

After a beat, Jane nodded stiffly. "What do you want to know?" he repeated.

Lisbon let the words tumble out of her mouth before she lost her nerve. "You knew before I did, didn't you?" she asked softly, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes. "You knew that I was in love with you before I had even realized it myself."

Jane's head titled to the side, his eyes intent on her. "I…I suspected as much, yes."

"When did you know for sure?" she asked.

Jane took a moment before he answered. "I think I've always known that you loved me," he hedged, "because you've always felt that way, since the moment we met. You just didn't realize it until recently—more specifically, until my six-month breakdown."

That was, she reflected, around the time she'd realized that she was in too deep with Jane, that her happiness, in part, depended on him—whether she liked it or not.

"When you came back from Vegas," Lisbon started hesitantly, "you told me you loved me." Jane's hand in hers tensed.

"Did you mean it?"

She watched his face carefully to gauge his reaction; her heart started to pound in her chest when she realized that he looked worried.

"I…I can't answer that question," he said. "Because if I answered it, I'd be putting you in danger. More danger than I could bear."

He remained stoic for another second, then Lisbon watched in fascination as his features shifted to extreme concern. "But by not answering that question, I've just answered it, haven't I?"

"Jane…"

"Lisbon, you can't mention this to anyone. If he finds out…" Jane gripped both of her hands in his for emphasis. He was suddenly anxious, intensely concerned for her safety. "_He can't find out, Lisbon. He can't_."

They sat like that, looking at each other, until Lisbon spoke. "When this is all over…"

"_If_ this is all over, at some point I will really and truthfully answer your question, Lisbon. But I need you to know that—"

His voice and her heart broke at the same time.

"Don't wait for you, essentially," finished Lisbon, trying to smile despite the watery glaze that now covered her eyes. "I know, Jane. I know _you_. I understand—you have to do this, whatever this is."

Lisbon made to move off the bed and head for the door, desperate to get some space between them—she would _not _allow him to see her break down; that would only make things more difficult—but Jane had other ideas. Halfway across the attic floor, his right hand caught her left. He spun her around, and Lisbon looked down at their joined hands—this time, neither were broken nor cut. They were whole.

"Lisbon, I—"

"I know, Jane. I know."

She squeezed his hand once and watched his mask slide back into place. He was, once again, as unreadable as ever. Lisbon backed away and out the door, leaving him alone in the attic, simultaneously reaching out for her while pushing her away.

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><p><strong>As always, any mistakes are mine. And please don't worry-I won't leave the story like this! I love a good happy ending :)<strong>

**If anyone was wondering, chapter titles (and the story title) are lyrics from _Into the Blue_, a song by Sara Jackson-Holman.**


	2. Chapter 2: Chasing the Wind

**AN: Thanks for the kind words about the first chapter! I hope you enjoy this one just as much.**

**This takes place during the premiere of the sixth season-but be aware that events in this story will differ slightly from how things played out on the show. The catalyst for this, of course, was the conversation Jane and Lisbon had last chapter: having that extra understanding of each other causes them to act slightly differently than they did in _The Desert Rose_.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

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><p>Chapter 2: Chasing the Wind<p>

_Salton Sea State Recreation Area_

"You think it was someone at the diner, don't you?" said Lisbon.

Jane shut the passenger door to the standard CBI-issue SUV and looked over at his partner, who gazed at him from the driver's side as she locked the car. They'd booked rooms at a hotel just off the main highway. It was decrepit and in need of a new paint job, something straight out of _The X-Files_. The doors to the rooms even opened up to the outside rather than to a main hallway. However, they'd had available adjoining rooms, and for that Lisbon was grateful.

Jane matched Lisbon step for step as they walked towards each other, and they met at the front of the vehicle. Jane didn't bother to conceal the look that had crossed his face—an odd combination of impressed and proud, as though he couldn't believe the apprentice had surpassed the master. He grinned at his partner and gestured with his head towards his room. "Let's take this conversation inside, and you can tell me all about your deductive prowess, Lisbon."

Lisbon smiled back and allowed him to open the door for her. He ushered her in, hand protectively on her back. She didn't miss the furtive glance he stole outside before closing the door.

Jane still thought she was in danger.

It was reassuring to know their conversation from yesterday hadn't entirely been pushed aside, Lisbon thought. Obviously Jane was still thinking about it if he was concerned for her safety.

Jane locked the door and turned to Lisbon, who had seated herself at the end of the bed. Jane chose a spot closer to the headboard and gestured for her to continue.

"Anyone with eyes could have spotted it, Jane," said Lisbon with a slight eye roll. "The only flowers growing naturally within miles of this place were next to the body. So where did the seeds come from?" She shrugged as if it were obvious. "Had to have been placed there with the body, most likely on accident. Besides sunlight, seeds need two things to grow: nutrients and water. The body supplied the nutrients. Maybe there was enough precipitation for the flowers to grow. So gardener boy is most definitely involved."

"Bravo, Lisbon!" Jane was smiling ear to ear. "Truly exemplary, if I say so myself—and I do, of course. May I offer a suggestion?"

"If I said no, you'd suggest anyway."

Jane ignored Lisbon's last comment and rolled his sleeves up further on his forearms. Lisbon made a mental note to remind him to change the bandage covering the cut on his left hand.

"Check the yearly precipitation totals for the Salton Sea State Recreation Area."

Lisbon pulled out her phone and searched for a few minutes. "Even for a desert, they're experiencing a drought—less than two inches over the past couple years."

"Any biologist could tell you that's hardly enough for those type of flowers to start growing, yet alone to keep producing seeds for 18 months."

Lisbon kicked her shoes off, annoyed, and swung her legs up on the bed. "Oh, gee, Jane, thanks for the lecture."

He looked at her, half amused and half...something she couldn't describe. A moment passed.

Lisbon continued. "There must be some other explanation for the water. It probably accompanied the body, like the seeds did." She thought for a while. "The body could have been frozen, which would imply that a large freezer was used. A freezer very much like—"

"—the one in the diner," finished Jane. He smiled at her. "Well done, Lisbon. Again, I'm most impressed."

"So that implicates the fry cook and the landscaper. But why?"

"Probably something to do with the waitress. Maybe Yardley was paying for her services, and one of the men was involved with her. Meh, hard to say right now. We'll stop by tomorrow and figure out how exactly."

They lapsed into silence for a while, and the sun sank into the mountains outside of the window. Lisbon stared thoughtfully at the horrid painting hung on the wall across from them, and Jane stared at Lisbon.

"What's bothering you?" he asked quietly.

Lisbon looked down at the equally horrid bedspread beneath her and started to trace the red and blue paisley patterns. "I have a hard time believing Partridge could be Red John."

Jane breathed in deeply and laced his fingers together behind his head. "You did well with Partridge today, you know. I wouldn't have guessed that you knew the names by how you interacted with him."

Lisbon smiled ruefully. "I can't say I feel the same about my conversation with Bertram."

"It'll get easier," Jane said, tone soft.

Lisbon looked up at him. "What'll get easier? The lies?"

"Yes."

She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. "And you're still adamant that we don't tell the team?"

Jane spoke slowly, as though choosing his words with great care. "We will tell them, when we have to. For now, they're safer not knowing."

In another lifetime, Lisbon wouldn't have accepted this. An alternate universe Lisbon would have already called Van Pelt and asked her to set up bugs on the seven suspects' phones. But this Lisbon, the Lisbon who sat across the bed from Jane for the second time in as many days—the Lisbon who had asked Jane if he loved her and had received his telling non-answer—was willing to side with Jane on this one.

"Alright," she said simply and got up from the bed, quickly pulling on her boots. "You have a plan for tomorrow?"

Jane followed her to the door. "I always have a plan, Lisbon."

Lisbon chuckled. "You're right. Stupid question." She hesitated for a moment before stepping back over the threshold, and in that moment Jane took an errant strand of her hair and tucked it back into place. Lisbon caught his hand before it fell to his side. "Don't forget to change your bandage," she said, indicating to the hand she held.

Jane nodded. "Goodnight, Lisbon."

"'Night, Jane."

Not until she was in the safety of her own room did Jane close the door.

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><p>Neither Jane nor Lisbon spoke much on the ride back to Sacramento the next day. Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt had arrived earlier to help close the case, and after the SUV containing them and the killers had taken off for the CBI, Jane offered to drive; he'd deduced correctly that she'd survived the day on less than two hours of sleep. Lisbon shrugged off his concern about her insomnia, but when she handed over the keys he knew she was more worried than she was letting on. As Lisbon dozed in the passenger seat, Jane followed the car driven by Cho.<p>

When the two SUVs pulled into the CBI parking lot, the three younger agents each took a handcuffed suspect inside for questioning. Lisbon slept on, and Jane was hesitant to wake her. She'd give him crap for this later, but Jane let her be.

Jane didn't often have an excuse to study Lisbon, but he found the task didn't require one when the subject was unconscious. He'd hoped that sleep would ease the furrow in her brow, the ever present indicator that Lisbon was worried, but it seemed that Lisbon worried even in her dreams. Jane felt a pang of guilt when he realized the cause of Lisbon's concern was most likely him. It made sense, he thought. Most of Jane's nightmares these days were about Lisbon.

Sometimes, she showed up in his happier dreams as well.

Lisbon's phone buzzed, and she woke up quickly with the air of someone used to being awaken at all hours when duty called. "Lisbon," she said curtly, all traces of sleep gone from her voice.

It became clear to Jane within two seconds that the call did not bring welcome news. Lisbon's eyes met his, and the unease in them was clear.

"We're on it," she said and hung up. She turned to face Jane without introduction and went on. "Partridge is missing. He had a testimony to give in court today and didn't show. No one has seen him since yesterday."

Jane caught on. "Since _we _saw him."

Lisbon swallowed anxiously. "Yeah. We need to get Van Pelt to track his phone—to make sure everything's..."

"Normal," Jane supplied. "Let's go."

They hurried into the building and up to the serious crimes floor. Van Pelt met them in the bullpen. "Rigsby and Cho are getting ready to interrogate the fry cook. Would you like to sit in?"

Lisbon shook her head. "Listen, Van Pelt," she said earnestly. "Something happened—it might relate to Red John." Lisbon looked at Jane, who nodded. "We will explain later, but right now it's urgent that you get a trace on Brett Partridge's phone. I'll tell the guys that the interrogation will have to wait."

"Boss?" said Van Pelt, clearly confused, but Lisbon had already run off to the interrogation room. Van Pelt and Jane watched as she talked to Rigsby and Cho, who stood up and started to walk the fry cook back down to holding. "Jane," said Van Pelt. "Is everything alright?"

"Just track the phone, Grace," he said gently. Van Pelt turned towards her computer and opened a program. She keyed in Partridge's number, and a map appeared on the display. A pinging dot marked the phone's location.

Lisbon returned, looking harried. "Did you find him?" she asked.

Grace turned the computer display towards Lisbon. "He's at 5570 West Huron. Doesn't appear to be moving."

"Can you get that tracking thing to-go?" Jane asked. Van Pelt looked at him, exasperated at his luddite tendencies. "I mean, can you take it with you?"

Van Pelt nodded. "I can pull it up on my laptop, yeah." She opened her laptop and began a whirlwind of typing and clicking. Rigsby and Cho turned the corner and sped over to the trio huddled around the computer.

"Boss," said Cho succinctly, looking to Lisbon.

Lisbon looked at Jane, who nodded again, and then to the rest of the team. "Everyone's coming with me. Van Pelt, take the computer. Jane will explain on the way."

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><p>They sped towards the other part of town while Jane spoke incessantly. Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt were quiet until he had finished filling them in on the list of seven names. Rigsby spoke first.<p>

"You think Partridge is Red John?" he said. "That's why we're checking this out? You have to admit, Boss, this is a little much."

Lisbon looked at Rigsby via the rearview mirror. "If this were any other case, I'd agree with you. But if Partridge is connected to Red John, every weird or abnormal action needs to be investigated."

Van Pelt spoke up. "Still no movement," she said. "Why aren't we calling in for backup if this is Red John?"

"Because we don't _know _it is Red John, and you don't call in for backup when any old person doesn't show up for a meeting," said Jane bluntly. Lisbon glanced at him, warning him with her eyes to calm down. "This may turn out to be nothing, or it may turn out to involve Red John. Either way, we don't want to draw attention to it," Jane added in a softer tone.

"We can handle it," agreed Lisbon.

They neared 5570 West Huron, and Lisbon pulled over to the side of the road. "Front door's open," said Cho, his demeanor terser than normal.

Lisbon turned to her team. "Cho, Van Pelt, you take the back door. Rigsby and I will go in the front. If this is Red John, we don't want to spook him, so be quiet on this one, alright?" Van Pelt shut her laptop, and the team climbed silently out of the car. Lisbon turned to Jane before following them. "Stay here. _Please._"

The third word came out as sheer desperation and quieted any thoughts Jane had about disobeying her. "Don't worry, Lisbon."

She and the team headed off into the dusk, drawing guns and flashlights as they went.

Cho and Van Pelt split off early to go around back while Lisbon and Rigsby headed for the front door. Lisbon worried about their combined weight on the front steps and any resulting noisy creaks, but Rigsby proved to as sure-footed as she could have hoped for: they made it up the stairs and through the door without a sound.

Once inside, Lisbon waved Rigsby off to check out a series of rooms to their right; she turned left down a darkened hallway. She scanned the first room she came to and found nothing. She turned to the second room and entered.

Nearly the entire room was ebony black save for a sliver of moonlight permeating through an open window. Her flashlight didn't illuminate the far corners of the room, and Lisbon nearly turned back to call for extra help.

A thump came from the closet.

Distracted, Lisbon froze, and she heard the thump again. This time, the closet door gave way, and a body tumbled out.

"_Partridge!_" she breathed, recognizing his lanky form. She ran over and knelt down beside him. The forensic analyst was covered in blood, and bruises covered his face; he looked unnaturally pale. His breathing was erratic.

Lisbon stood up and made to yell for help, but Partridge was already forming whispers.

"Tyger, tyger," he said, then went still.

Behind her, the floor squeaked, and she whirled around, startling the dark shape that was approaching. A flash of silver—accompanied by a flash of intense pain—followed, and she screamed louder than she'd previously thought possible.

"Lisbon!" came a voice. Some part of her brain told her it was Cho's. A second later, three sets of stampeding footsteps sounded off like gunshots, and Lisbon kicked out at her attacker. As Cho appeared in the doorway, the dark shape jumped over Partridge's body and through the window. Rigsby and Van Pelt appeared a heartbeat later. Cho made to follow Lisbon's attacker, but he stopped at the window and swore.

"Too dark," he said through clenched teeth. "Couldn't see him."

"What happened, Boss?" asked Van Pelt, looking from Lisbon to Partridge's body with wide eyes. Jane appeared behind her, looking unkempt.

Lisbon made to answer her but felt a pang from her abdomen. Her hand went to cover it instinctively, and almost instantly Jane was at her side. He peeled back her hand, revealing the carved remains of her blouse, now soaked with blood. A gash travelled from one side of her stomach to the other, the dark red contrasting intensely against her porcelain skin.

She fell into Jane as her vision and consciousness faded to black.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading! As always, all mistakes are mine.<strong>


	3. Chapter 3: Faded World of My Daydreams

**AN: Hello everyone! Thanks again for reading and for your lovely encouragement. Without further ado, here's the next installment.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

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><p>Chapter 3: Faded World of My Daydreams<p>

Lisbon awoke gradually, fighting through the obfuscating haze of pain medication. In the limbo between sleep and consciousness, she became aware of a dull ache across her abdomen, and her breathing changed from peaceful to labored. Immediately, she heard a rustle from her side and felt a warm weight on her forearm. She opened her eyes and closed them again a second later against the intense sunlight.

"What time is it?" asked Lisbon.

Jane's voice answered her. "Five in the morning." Her breathing calmed in response to his deep voice. He sounded awful, as though he'd been up all night. _Which he probably has been_, thought Lisbon.

Jane's hand disappeared from her arm, and the fire behind her eyelids dimmed as Jane shut the curtains. He returned to his chair beside her bed as Lisbon opened her eyes. Soft sunlight stole into the room from the window to her right, cascading over Jane and making his outline appear to glow. Lisbon glanced around the rest of the hospital room, which appeared to have been newly remodeled in the hospital's attempt to keep up with the booming medical business where remodeling and expansions were the norm rather than the exception. She optimistically noted the lack of IV lines or heart monitors, and her heart swelled when she noticed a half-full cup of tea on her bedside table.

"Hey," she said shyly.

"Hi," he said, as hesitant as she was. "How are you feeling? Should I get the doctor?"

"No, no, I'm alright," said Lisbon. "How bad is it?"

Jane ran a hand through his hair distractedly. He would have messed up his carefully-styled curls had they still been intact. Lisbon had a feeling that Jane had given up attempts at looking put-together many hours ago. Though, of course, he still looked as gorgeous as ever with his buttoned vest and dress shirt with rolled up sleeves.

"You have a laceration on your abdomen. Here," he said, indicating with his fingers. He traced a line on her stomach from just under her ribcage to just over her hipbone on the opposite side of her body. "I didn't bother to count how many stitches were required to sew it back up. But we were lucky—the cut wasn't deep enough to touch any organs."

Lisbon didn't miss his use of the pronoun 'we'.

"You'll be on some pretty intense pain meds for a while. They'll make you drowsy, so no driving," he smirked at her, knowing how little she cared for having other people care for her. "Actually, the doctor says you'll probably need some help. You're not supposed to twist your torso or bend over if you can avoid it. Grace was very adamant that you knew we'd all be around to help."

Lisbon sighed.

Jane took a deep breath. "And, of course, there is the matter of work—"

Lisbon's shoulders tensed.

"You're on temporary leave until you're healed."

Lisbon fought to think of words, but her brain felt groggy and slow. She gave in—if the pain medication was having this much of an effect on her now, it was probably safest for everyone that she didn't attempt to work. She tried to relax.

"Is the team alright? No one else was hurt?"

"Everyone's fine," said Jane, touching her face and moving her hair aside. "They followed us in the ambulance and were going to stay until you woke up, but after your surgery the doctor said you were doing really well and encouraged them to get some sleep."

"But you stayed."

"I stayed," Jane said with a nod.

"Was it him?"

The sparkle that Jane's eyes had contained upon seeing her awake this morning vanished rapidly. "Yes, I think it was."

"It was pretty risky of him—hiding out there with four agents searching the house."

Jane's eyebrows furrowed, and Lisbon became all too aware of the stress lines emanating from his eyes and across his forehead. "He didn't expect the whole team to show up," said Jane simply. "He must have thought only you were there. That's why he ran when he heard Cho's voice—he knew he was outnumbered."

"_We surprised him?"_ breathed Lisbon, not quite believing.

"It appears that way, yes," said Jane, appearing astonished himself. "I doubt he'll make the same mistake again."

"'_You've changed the game, so there's new rules now_,'" quoted Lisbon.

"Exactly."

A quiet knock interrupted their conversation, and Van Pelt walked into the room followed closely by Rigsby. Lisbon felt Jane withdraw from her by a fraction of an inch.

"Hi, Boss—how are you feeling?" asked Van Pelt.

"Tired," said Lisbon honestly, "but alright. Thanks," she said.

"We're sorry about this, Boss," said Rigsby, "but we caught a case. A car exploded last night, and we need Jane to come with us to check it out. Cho's already there."

Jane tensed. "Surely you can handle this one—" he began.

Lisbon laid a hand on his upper arm, and he quieted. "It's okay, Jane. Go check it out—close it quickly, alright?"

Van Pelt's eyes lingered on the point of contact between her boss and the consultant. A moment later, she slipped back into professional mode. "I'll stay here with you, Lisbon. Jane can go with Rigsby."

Jane glanced at Lisbon, who squeezed his arm in reassurance. "Go on," she urged.

Jane stood up, and their contact broke. "If you need anything…" he trailed off.

"You'll be the first to know, I'm sure," said Lisbon, leaning back against her pillows, and the two men exited the room.

Van Pelt sat down in the chair Jane had just vacated and straightened her red leather jacket. She gave Lisbon a long, obvious look.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" asked Lisbon, flustered.

Van Pelt rolled her eyes. "Come on, Boss. Really?"

Lisbon shook her head, still oblivious.

"What's happened between you and Jane?"

"Nothing!" said Lisbon, internally wincing at her obviously too-quick protest.

"Yeah, okay," said Van Pelt. "Then all that hysteria he failed to conceal last night—that means nothing as well?"

Lisbon shifted, and she felt the dull ache return to her abdomen. "What hysteria?"

Van Pelt folded her arms across her chest. "I'll tell you if you tell me."

Lisbon swore. "Fine," she said, and Van Pelt smiled, looking satisfied. Lisbon continued. "We're trying to be more honest with each other," she said fairly, trying to give away as little as possible. "I told him the truth, and he returned the favor."

Though Lisbon hadn't given details, Van Pelt seemed to know what her boss had omitted from the conversation. "That's really wonderful, Lisbon. I—"

"What were you going to tell me?" interrupted Lisbon.

Van Pelt smiled. "Have it your way," she said. "After you passed out, he wouldn't let you go. He held you while ordering me to take his jacket and use it to staunch the blood from your wound."

_That explained why Jane hadn't been wearing a suit jacket this morning_, Lisbon thought.

Van Pelt continued. "He rode in the ambulance with you and refused to wash your blood off his hands until he found out you'd made it through surgery. He was a mess, Boss. I don't think he slept at all. And one of the doctors ordered us out of your room once you'd recovered, but he wouldn't leave…"

She trailed off, as though not sure whether she should reveal what came next.

"What, Van Pelt?"

"Another female doctor came to his rescue. She asked if he was the husband, and Jane said he was the 'significant other.' So she allowed him to stay."

Lisbon didn't know what to say.

"Yeah. The thing is, Boss…I don't think he was trying to con anybody. I think that's actually what you are to him."

Lisbon still didn't have any words.

"Listen, Boss, I talked with your doctor before I came in here, and she said you could check out if you felt well enough. She just wanted to talk to you about the medications she's prescribing."

Lisbon found her voice. "Let's get out of here."

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><p>The rest of Lisbon's day proved far less exciting than the previous one. She spent most of her time trying not to fall asleep and failing miserably. <em>Damn medication<em>, she thought as she roused herself to a knock on her door.

It was Cho, and he carried with him a bag of takeout dinner from a new organic restaurant down the street. He ate with her in silence, both of them preferring to think rather to converse about idle or gossipy topics.

As he prepared to leave, however, Cho turned to Lisbon. "Is everything alright with you and Jane?" he asked.

Lisbon leaned against the wall by her door, half because she needed the physical support and half to support herself for the conversation. "We're working through some stuff," she admitted finally. "These past couple days have been tough…for both of us."

"Okay," said Cho, and he walked out the door to his car.

Lisbon headed off to bed soon after, the non-conversation she'd had with Cho reeling in her mind. Jane must have really been acting strange for the whole team to pick up on their new dynamic. The thought scared her. If Cho and Van Pelt could figure out something was up, it wouldn't be hard for Red John to figure it out either. Lisbon shuddered and turned around halfway to her room.

That night, she double-checked all the locks.

* * *

><p>The drugs helped her fall to sleep instantly, but they didn't prevent the nightmares that accompanied the dark. Red John took the form of Brett Partridge in Lisbon's dreams that night, and she was forced to watch as he slit the throats of her team one by one. When the blood started seeping from Jane's neck—and she heard the clatter as his teacup crashed to the ground—she bolted upright in her bed, all traces of grogginess gone.<p>

Her clear head also came with the recognition of extreme pain from her stomach. Lisbon laid back down slowly, terrified that she'd pulled some stitches out with her abrupt movements. She looked to her side.

The clock read 2:47 AM.

Scared to move and worsen the damage she'd already inflicted on her wound, Lisbon decided there was only one option available to her.

She picked up the phone.

* * *

><p>Lisbon heard her front door open precisely 16 minutes after she'd hung up. She listened to the quiet feet approach her bedroom. "Jane?" she asked.<p>

"I assumed you'd given me permission to enter your apartment, Lisbon, or I wouldn't have picked the lock. I apologize for my presumptuousness."

Lisbon felt the mattress sink as he sat down beside her. "You're forgiven, I suppose," she said with half a smile. "How'd the case go?"

Jane turned on the lamp on her bedside table, and light flooded the room. "Solved it in under an hour—it was a suicide," said Jane dismissively. "You think you need to go to the hospital?" he continued, concerned.

"You tell me."

Lisbon realized Jane had been carrying a CVS pharmacy bag with him as he set it down. "Someone inspired me to start a first aid kit," said Jane, tone teasing. "I decided now would be a good time to begin."

He moved slowly, large hands going to her oversize t-shirt and rolling it up over her ribcage, revealing an ace bandage wrapped around her entire torso. Lisbon held her breath, trying to direct her thoughts away from a different scenario in which Patrick Jane was removing her clothing in bed. Jane caught her eye and smirked at her, obviously thinking along the same lines. She blushed.

"There is a little blood, Lisbon, but it doesn't seem serious."

"I understand why you wouldn't have made a good doctor, Jane. You do have to look _under_ the bandage to see the wound, you know."

"I see your medication is wearing off. You've become snarky again."

Jane moved one hand underneath the lower part of her back, raised her body an inch above the mattress, and used the other hand to unwrap the ace bandage. He tossed the bloody bandage into the garbage across the room.

Lisbon looked at him, surprised. "Don't tell me you were the star basketball player on the carnie circuit, Jane. You've been holding out on me."

"We'll play when you're healed up," he said, not elaborating further. Instead, he closely examined her stomach. "All the stitches look intact," he said. "I think you just aggravated it."

Lisbon breathed out in relief.

"Let me clean up the blood, and we'll get you another bandage." He dug through the pharmacy bag he'd brought with him, revealing alcohol pads of the same brand Lisbon had given him to clean his hand. Lisbon smiled at him.

"Have I become a good influence on you, Jane?"

Jane finished cleaning Lisbon's wound, mindful of the stitches, and started to wrap a new ace bandage around her torso as he answered. "You seem to be, Lisbon. Imagine that." He pulled her shirt down when he'd finished. "How's the pain?"

"I think I need some more pain pills," she admitted grudgingly. "I left them in the kitchen. Could you…?"

"I got it," said Jane, and he disappeared down the hall. He reappeared a minute later and handed her a pill and a glass of water.

"Thank you," said Lisbon. She swallowed the pill with the help of the water and turned to Jane, who had taken his place on the edge of her mattress. "I hate pain meds. They make me feel stupid and slow—and I never feel like I'm in control of what I'm saying."

A minute passed, each of them quietly sorting through their own thoughts. Suddenly, their eyes met as understanding shot through Lisbon. "Red John's not psychic, Jane," she said.

"I know how he killed your happy memory."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading!<strong>

**All mistakes are mine.**


	4. Chapter 4: Falling Deeper

**AN: Hello everyone! Once again, thanks for reading and reviewing the last chapter. I received some amazing feedback, and I'm really grateful to be a part of this fandom. I hope you all enjoy this chapter as well as tonight's new episode!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 4: Falling Deeper<p>

Lisbon tried to lean towards Jane, forgetting in her eagerness that abrupt forward movements had been the cause of her current discomfort. She hissed and touched a hand gingerly to her stomach in response. Jane put both his hands on her arms near her shoulders and guided her gently back to her pillows.

"The year before we met," began Lisbon, noticing with pleasure that Jane had yet to remove his hands from her arms, "you were on some pretty heavy medications, right?"

She felt his body tense and his pulse skyrocket. A few seconds later, he'd gained enough control to answer her question.

"Yes," he said. "I don't remember what medications exactly, but it was rather intense. I was taking pills for anxiety and depression, among other things."

"Do you remember much of that year?" she asked quietly.

Jane opened his mouth to answer, but the words didn't seem to want to come out. Lisbon moved her hand from her stomach to grasp his tricep. "I can't begin to imagine what it was like for you, Jane," she said. "To be honest, I'm amazed at how far you've come—the strides you continue to make."

"You're not the only one," Jane responded.

"If you can't talk about it, I understand," said Lisbon quickly, tightening her grip on his arm in apology.

Jane determinedly avoided her eyes, talking instead to the cross pendant resting on her chest. "I remember stretches of time, when I was doing better. Those times are the clearest—I could tell you what I was wearing, who I talked with, or the weather. But other times…there were other times that are complete blanks to me. Maybe my mind's way of repressing extremely difficult memories or maybe a result of the drugs; I'm not sure."

"You talked to a psychiatrist that whole year?"

"Yes, Sophie Miller." Jane's eyes finally raised to meet Lisbon's. "You think I told her about my happy memory?"

Lisbon nodded. "Jane," she half-whispered. "I like to think I'm the person who knows you best in the world right now."

"I _know _you are," said Jane.

"Alright, so I know you better than anyone—and you hadn't even told _me _of this memory. I don't think you would have told it to anyone else willingly, unless you didn't know what you were doing."

Jane's eyes had left hers again. He looked around Lisbon's bedroom for a moment distractedly before gazing at Lisbon's hand on his arm.

"That's the only time in my life I can't account for some of my conversations," Jane agreed. "I must have told Sophie."

"But how did Red John find out?"

"It wasn't exactly a secret that I had a breakdown; I'm betting it would be easy enough to discover where I was for that year. He could have visited Sophie, maybe as a new patient."

"Then she might be able to ID him for us!"

Jane frowned. "Red John doesn't make easy mistakes like that."

"You think he's setting a trap?"

"I don't know. But if he is or if he isn't, we have to look into this. It's too big a break not to. Even if for some reason Sophie can't ID him, she'd be able to provide valuable insights that might help us eliminate some suspects."

"You don't think he would have told her anything truthful, do you?"

"Sophie's extraordinarily smart. She'd be able to tell if he were hiding something or lying."

Their conversation dwindled after that, both of them too exhausted to discuss the subject further. Lisbon gave up her fight to keep her eyes open, and Jane took that as his cue to leave.

He disentangled his arms from Lisbon's and said, "I'll see you tomorrow, alright?" Soon after, he turned off Lisbon's bedside lamp and headed towards her bedroom door.

Lisbon turned towards him, the darkness and haze of medication giving her newfound courage.

"Jane?" she called. His outline paused in the doorway.

"Jane, it's almost 4 AM. You're exhausted—just stay here."

She heard him turn around slowly, timidly, but he didn't step towards her.

"Jane, just stay."

He moved before she'd uttered the last word and climbed into bed beside her, just as timid as he'd been in the doorway. He remained on the far side of the mattress.

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to bite you, Jane."

He scooted over in response, and she grabbed his arm, pulling it over her ribcage. Jane protested, worried that the added pressure would cause her pain.

"Believe me, it would be more painful without you here," Lisbon murmured, barely a whisper.

Jane's arm around her tightened, and she knew he had heard her.

* * *

><p>Lisbon didn't wake until after nine the next morning, and the space beside her had long since been vacated. For a minute, she allowed herself to be disappointed. After that, though, relief replaced disappointment. For a number of reasons—some professional, such as the distance they had to keep from each other as long as Red John was alive, and some personal—Lisbon determined that perhaps it was better not to have to face a morning after conversation with Jane.<p>

Even if by sleeping together they had literally done nothing else than sleep.

As soon as Lisbon had decided this, her phone buzzed, Jane's name on the caller ID. She made a grab for her phone, missing on the first try, then put it to her ear as she slowly sat up against her headboard. "Jane?"

Perhaps they'd have that conversation after all.

"Lisbon," said Jane, and she didn't miss the relief in his voice. His next words, however, were not at all what she was expecting. "Cho and I went over to Sophie's this morning. Her mail had been piling up, and she hasn't been into work in a week."

Lisbon's body turned cold, as though her blood had been replaced with ice.

"Red John killed her, didn't he?"

"Her head was in the oven."

"Oh my god," said Lisbon, her free hand covering her mouth in shock. "Jane, I'm so sorry. I'm…I don't even know what to say."

Jane didn't respond, so Lisbon filled the silence. "Do you want to come over here and talk about it? What can I do to help?"

Jane ignored her first question and instead answered her second. "Rigsby's coming over to pick you up," he said, monotone. "He's volunteered to keep tabs on the rest of the list and see what they've been up to. Could you help him? Cho, Van Pelt and I are heading to Sophie's work. We're going to track down her notes."

Lisbon nodded to herself. "Yes, of course. Jane…"

But he had already hung up.

Shaken, Lisbon got up and attempted to go about her morning routine, though it took her twice as long as normal, her injury slowing her considerably. She only had time to grab a muffin before Rigsby showed up at her door.

"How are you feeling, Boss?" he asked after they'd climbed into the SUV and pulled back onto the road.

"Like I probably shouldn't be going back into work," smirked Lisbon. "But this is Jane's case, so…" she trailed off, wondering where she had wanted to go with that sentence.

Rigsby seemed either completely oblivious or completely understanding—Lisbon couldn't determine which. He nodded, and they drove the rest of the way to CBI headquarters in silence.

They spent the rest of the morning camped out in Lisbon's office, sorting through recent paperwork regarding each of the six remaining Red John suspects. Lisbon turned a page in a file concerning a burglary in Napa Valley that Thomas McAllister had recently overseen and groaned. "This is pointless," she muttered. "Red John doesn't make mistakes."

Rigsby shot her a sympathetic glance and returned his attention to a newspaper clipping on Bret Stiles. Lisbon attempted to do the same, but the page blurred before her eyes. She pulled out her phone and checked her emails instead.

Of the four new messages she had received, she deleted three without opening them. The fourth she read with interest. "Rigsby," she said, the corners of her mouth curling up, "come look at this." She held the phone out for him to read as he pushed himself off her couch and strode over to her desk.

Rigsby's eyes darted quickly from side to side, scanning the message. He looked at her, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "It's official now?" he asked.

"They've been talking about this for over a month in Personnel," said Lisbon. "Agents weren't allowed to know until they'd made a final decision, but it looks like they've finally decided—they're officially revoking the old policy prohibiting agents from being personally involved."

Lisbon allowed the smile to stretch across her face. "So when are you going to propose?" she asked, grateful for some topic that didn't involve death or Red John.

Rigsby leaned against the glass panes that separated Lisbon's office from the bullpen. "I'd never thought about it," said Rigsby. "I never wanted to make her choose between me and her career again."

"Well," said Lisbon, "even if you haven't thought about marriage, Rigsby, I can guarantee you that Van Pelt has. I should not be telling you this," she said, her tone soft and almost maternal, "but she kept her wedding dress from the last time she was engaged. She showed it to me. It's…it's gorgeous."

Rigsby fought to keep a smile off his face. "Nothing would make me happier than to marry Van Pelt," he said. "But with everything that's been going on lately, it this really the time to get engaged?"

"That's for you and Van Pelt to decide," said Lisbon. "But let me turn your question around. With everything that's been happening here with Red John, don't we need to be reminded more and more that love and…and happy endings are still possible? The darkness that surrounds us right now…it just adds more contrast to the light that you and Van Pelt have—it makes you both shine brighter. Maybe now is the perfect time to get engaged."

Rigsby smiled hesistantly as Lisbon spoke. "I have a ring," he said, looking off into the bullpen, wistful. "I bought it a long time ago, when I didn't understand the choice I was asking her to make. But I kept it, all these years…because I hoped things would be different."

He turned to look at Lisbon, his smile disbelieving and his eyes misty. "And now they are."

* * *

><p>The next few days passed without incident. Jane eventually tracked down Sophie's notes and discovered the alias Red John had used on the pretense of obtaining psychiatric help—and upon reviewing the file, Jane also discovered that Red John had a phobia. Though Lisbon hadn't been sure how useful this new information would be, Jane had immediately set off for Napa Valley to see if he could rule Thomas McAllister out. Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt tagged along, helping to insert the CBI's presence into McAllister's case so that Jane could study him.<p>

Soon afterwards, he had called Lisbon to confirm that McAllister _did_ have a phobia—pigeons, of all things—and that he was still on the list of suspects.

"Oh, and Lisbon," Jane had said. Lisbon had felt his smile over the phone. "There's one last thing we need to take care of in Napa—a certain blessed event, if you will. I'm coming to pick you up as we speak."

"Rigsby and Van Pelt?" Lisbon had asked.

"The very same," agreed Jane. "So put on your courthouse finery, Lisbon. We're going to a wedding."

A few hours later, the ceremony took place, witnessed by Jane, Cho, and Lisbon. Cho stood off to Rigsby's side, and Lisbon and Jane stood by each other. Lisbon leaned against Jane, her injury still fatiguing her, and Jane wound an arm around her waist, supporting most of her weight. Neither Rigsby nor Van Pelt stopped smiling, and neither had eyes for anyone but the other.

Vows were exchanged, as were rings, and soon the Rigsbys were running out of the courthouse hand in hand. Cho followed next, and Jane and Lisbon brought up the rear, taking more time as to not exert Lisbon.

By the time they made it outside, Rigsby and Van Pelt had already climbed into the awaiting carriage. Jane, Lisbon, and Cho waved to them energetically, and the carriage took off. Cho glanced at his two remaining coworkers, nodded, and headed to his own vehicle. Lisbon turned toward Jane.

"Are you alright?" she asked lightly.

"Ah…yeah," said Jane. "I'm always a mess at weddings. They just remind me of Angela," he admitted.

His eyes misted over, and the tears ran down his face. He didn't swipe at them, as though not acknowledging them meant that he could deny their presence.

"What was your wedding like, Jane?"

Jane smiled, his eyes unfocused, staring off at a memory Lisbon didn't share. "It was perfect and awful at the same time, as weddings often are," he said. "I didn't have any family, but Angela had more than enough. She shared them with me that day." He raised his face to the sun, soaking up its rays.

"I don't know if I've ever told you this, but I wish I could have met her."

Jane lowered his eyes to hers. "She would approve of you, you know," he said. "She'd want to thank you for saving me. For bringing me back to life."

Lisbon couldn't meet his eyes after that. Instead, she stepped forward into his arms and hugged him tightly, and he tucked her head underneath his chin.

"Would you like to get married again?" she mumbled into his chest.

And of course, he couldn't answer her. That was heading into murky territory—a line they had agreed not to cross for her own safety while Red John still haunted the streets of California.

Lisbon didn't know if her tears were for Jane's lost love or hers.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading! All mistakes are mine.<strong>


	5. Chapter 5: Something Precious

**AN: Thanks again for your kind words on the last chapter! I've finally finished mapping out where this story will go and am extremely excited to keep sharing this adventure with you all. I hope you enjoy this chapter and the ones to come!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

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><p>Chapter 5: Something Precious<p>

"What the hell, Jane—I thought we agreed to be honest with each other!"

"We did—Lisbon, _we did_—this just slipped my mind! I apologize; I've been enormously preoccupied these past few weeks!"

Lisbon and Jane stood facing each other, shoulders squared and facing off. Since her injury, Lisbon had abandoned her usual heels in favor of loafers which proved to be more conducive to the healing of her stomach. However, as the verbal sparring continued, Lisbon wished she had the extra few inches of height the heels afforded her. It was difficult to look intimidating when Jane was over a head taller than she was.

"Preoccupied by a number of things," Jane added, his tone more solemn, and he indicated with a wave of his hand towards her stomach. Though the injury had been healing more quickly than Lisbon could have hoped for, allowing for her to come back to work full time a week ago, there were still instances when it pained her.

Lisbon bit her lip, holding back her retort. Her shoulders slumped. "I don't want to fight with you."

"I'm sorry," said Jane, scuffing one of his well-worn shoes into the attic floor. "I should have told you that someone stole the fake list of names. I don't have an excuse except for sheer idiocy."

"As long as we're clear," said Lisbon, smirking, and when he smiled at her in response she knew the argument was over—though it hadn't appeared either of them had won.

Jane pulled out the chair by the desk and sat down, looking up at her. "Here's the truth: I knew someone was spying on me. Obviously I didn't want to give them the real list of suspects. I figured they'd be content with some names, that it would tear their attention away from me for a while. I didn't think whoever it was who stole that list—" Jane pointed emphatically to the board across the room "—would actually kill any of the fake suspects."

Lisbon leaned back on the desk and crossed her arms over her emerald blazer. Their eyes were nearly level now, their height difference long forgotten. "We've got to offer the other fake suspects protection," she said. "And it wouldn't hurt to put a detail on you as well."

"_On me?_" said Jane with a disbelieving air. "What makes you think I need protection? Red John isn't involved in this fake list."

Lisbon unfolded her arms and braced herself with them against the desk. "Whoever stole that list just killed someone, Jane," she pointed out. "What happens if they rule out all the suspects and discover the list is bullshit? They'll come for you next, I guarantee it."

Jane seemed to mull this over for a while before deciding any further arguments would be futile. "Okay, fine, I concede your point, Lisbon," he said, hands raised in a yielding gesture. "But no protective detail, please?"

Lisbon looked at him fiercely, and she almost gave in to his puppy dog eyes. "How about a compromise? No detail, but you can't stay here anymore. These people already broke into your attic once—they could do it again easily."

"And who will protect me if I don't have a detail, Lisbon?" said Jane, his tone snarky.

"I will." Lisbon pushed herself off the desk and strode towards the door. "Pack up whatever belongings you have, Jane," she said over her shoulder. "You're moving in with me."

Jane sat stunned for a whole minute before he smiled to himself. Then he grabbed a duffel bag from under his makeshift bed and ran to catch up with her, turning his back on the invading dusk behind him.

* * *

><p>When Lisbon opened her door and ushered him through the threshold of her home, Jane took two steps into the entryway and stopped, duffel in hand. He took his time taking off his shoes and putting them to the side on a rug by the door, Lisbon noted, as though concentrating on a small task would quell any nerves. Wondering what exactly about being in her house had caused his anxiousness, Lisbon brushed past him and headed for the kitchen to make some tea.<p>

As she was putting water in the kettle, she became aware of Jane's presence looming somewhere behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to see him propped up against the wall that separated the kitchen and the hallway, and she noticed with a jolt that both suit coat and vest had been abandoned along with the duffel bag. A sudden feeling of wistfulness washed over Lisbon, and she realized it had been trigged by this suddenly domestic-looking Jane. She took a snapshot of this moment in her mind—herself by the stove, making his favorite type of tea, while he stood off to the side, shoes off and the picture-perfect vision of a life-partner—and she knew somehow that Jane was similarly filing the moment away in his memory palace.

She realized with a jolt what had caused his nerves.

Lisbon left the tea to cool and brushed past him into the hallway. She understood now that Jane felt like an outsider in her home, that they hadn't built a life together there—unlike the feel-good picture she had stored in her mind. Now in the entryway by her front door, Lisbon found the duffel bag Jane had set down and grabbed it as well as the suit coat and vest he'd laid down on top. Heading down her hallway past the living room and towards the bedrooms, Lisbon beckoned to Jane.

He followed.

The choice she made here, Lisbon realized, would be either a massive step forward or back for them. The problem was, she wasn't entirely sure which choice led to which outcome.

She chose to go all in and turned away from the guest room. Towards her bedroom.

"I sleep on the right side of the bed," she said, setting the duffel down on the bedspread. She walked over to her closet, and Jane's eyes followed her movements. She knew if she looked up at him she'd find some odd combination of amazement and joy plastered across his face. She opened the closet. "As you know, I have no life—meaning I have the bare minimum amount of clothes. I've been meaning to fill up the other half of my closet. I guess your clothes will do as well as any."

And she hung up the vest and suit coat on his half of the closet. It looked supremely empty compared to hers.

Jane still hadn't said a word. When she looked at him, he nodded, looking lost for words.

"The tea's probably cool now," he finally blurted out. Lisbon smiled at his uncharacteristic lack of eloquence and understood the thanks he was trying to convey. She linked their hands and led him back to the kitchen.

* * *

><p>The next morning at work was uneventful. Jane had been ordered to stay within eyesight of at least one team member, and Lisbon was surprised to find that he seemed to actually obey her wishes for once. By noon, he had talked her into ordering takeout and eating on the roof. A string of clouds disappeared as they took their table, rays of sunshine taking their place, and Lisbon's mind wandered fondly to the time when they'd been sitting here last, enjoying ice cream together.<p>

Lisbon knew from experience how charming Jane could be when he wanted to, but that afternoon's lunch was one of the first times when that charm had been wholeheartedly directed at her for no ulterior reason. He dazzled her with outrageous stories from his childhood days.

"My brothers loved the carnival," said Lisbon, laughing after one story involving Jane trying his hand as a snake-charmer. "Wouldn't it have been something if your circuit had made it out to Chicago? Think, we could have met years ago."

Jane smiled in agreement and leaned forward. "Lisbon," he began.

Something distracted him, and his eyes moved a fraction of an inch above her forehead to focus on something past her. Lisbon watched his smile abruptly disappear. "What is it?" she whispered.

"Kirkland," said Jane, barely moving his lips. Lisbon watched as the smile appeared again, but she knew this time it was forced. She turned around as the Homeland Security agent approached them, his jet black hair matching the precise shade of the pristine suit he was wearing.

"Patrick Jane, Agent Lisbon," said Bob Kirkland in greeting. Jane stood up to shake his hand—more so a gesture to put them on even footing, Lisbon knew, than to actually convey any warmth associated with the agent's appearance. Lisbon nodded to return the greeting but didn't stand.

"I hear you've made some strides concerning Red John," began Kirkland.

"We might have," hedged Jane, still smiling.

"Regarding…" prompted Kirkland. Lisbon noticed strands of silver in his hair near his temple but couldn't remember seeing them when they last met. The silvery-gray stuck out, she thought, against the rest of his dark, slicked back hair.

If Kirkland was offering bait, Jane wasn't interested in biting.

"I'm not sure how that pertains to Homeland Security," said Jane, his smile obviously fake now.

Kirkland's posture turned defensive. "You don't see that? A list of names would help us track these guys down and make California more safe."

"Who said anything about a list?" said Lisbon sharply.

"There've been rumors flying around." Kirkland shrugged.

Jane looked from Kirkland to Lisbon, and his expression told her that a con was beginning to take shape in his mind. He turned back to Kirkland. "The only list is fake," Jane said. "I was worried someone was spying on me. Turns out I had good reason to be suspicious. The list was stolen."

"Someone stole your fake list?" said Kirkland. The clouds returned overhead.

"Looks like it," said Jane, dismissive. "Sorry to disappoint, but we're no closer to finding Red John than we've ever been. Come on, Lisbon. It looks like it's about to rain."

And they headed inside as the first drops began to fall.

* * *

><p>That night, they faced each other in bed and spoke in whispers. A sliver of moonlight fell on Jane's hair, bleaching it blonder than normal.<p>

"You think Kirkland stole the list," said Lisbon.

"I know he did."

"How?"

Lisbon's hand moved to his arm and began to absentmindedly trace the outline of a button on his pajama sleeve.

"He was more nervous than the last time I saw him. Fast pulse, sweaty hand, the microexpressions on his face when I told him the list was fake. Also, how else would he have known about the list? The only people I've told are you and the team."

Lisbon breathed a sigh of relief. "He can't be Red John, then. Why would Red John try to steal your list when he already knew the people on it?"

"Maybe," said Jane. "It's difficult to rule anyone out completely."

Lisbon shivered, and Jane pulled her towards him.

They fell asleep that way, limbs tangled, and woke up in a similar position. Lisbon was the first to wake and found, to her embarrassment, that at some point during the night she'd started using Jane as a pillow. Her head lay on his chest now, moving up and down in sync with his breathing. She attempted to roll away from him, but Jane—somewhere in limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness—tightened his arm around her. She gave in without protesting further and settled herself against him as he began to wake up.

"Do we need to talk about this, Lisbon?" he asked groggily.

"Good morning to you, too."

"Oh, I'm not denying that," said Jane, and she could feel him smile against her hair. "I mean about that line we drew. We appear to have become very good at tiptoeing over it—but I fear if I take any more steps, I won't be able to stop."

Lisbon sighed. "We probably should talk," she agreed. "But I'm going to need coffee first."

Fifteen minutes later they both had dressed and Lisbon had turned on the coffee maker. Jane was making tea. Lisbon smiled at his hair, still messy from bed. A thump sounded against her door.

"That'll be the Saturday paper," said Lisbon, and she headed to the door to retrieve it. As she opened the door, intense sunlight streamed into her hallway. All traces of the previous day's rain were gone, and as Lisbon looked out over her street, she wondered how a world with such potential could harbor such darkness. She bent down to retrieve the paper at her feet.

The plants rustled off to the side of the doorstep, and when she stood up, she felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed to the left side of her temple. She froze.

"What do you want?"

Kirkland's voice answered from her side, where he'd evidently been lying in wait just far enough out of sight for her to have missed him upon first opening the door. "I'd hoped for Jane, but you'll do just as nicely," he said. "I believe we can persuade him to give us the real list of suspects. Call him out here—nothing funny. I'll shoot if you let him know what's going on."

Lisbon took a deep breath and calculated her options.

"Patrick?" she called. "Patrick, you need to see this." Her voice shook only slightly.

Jane's reply didn't come immediately, like she expected it to. "Give me a minute, Teresa, I just spilled your coffee everywhere."

Lisbon still stared straight ahead, aware of Kirkland hiding at the edge of her front door only through her peripheral vision. Despite her panic, she tried to think clearly, and the fact that Jane had called her by her first name registered vaguely.

A minute later, Kirkland's patience was wearing thin, and Lisbon's blood pressure was skyrocketing. "Call him again. If he doesn't come out, we go in for him."

"Patrick?" Lisbon called, and a gunshot sounded.

Kirkland dropped to the ground, and instinctively Lisbon kicked his gun away. She needn't have bothered—the bullet had gone straight through the back of his skull, execution style.

Lisbon looked up to see Jane holding her gun and standing on the other side of Kirkland's body. He was still clad in his pajamas, and his lack of shoes appeared to be the reason he had been able to sneak up on them both. Lisbon tried to form coherent thoughts; ridiculously, she wondered if he'd had to climb through a window to reach her.

She gave up on attempting to be rational and instead turned to Jane. He looked corpse-white and shaken.

"I'm here, Teresa," he said.

Lisbon launched herself at him, tightening her arms around him in an embrace even Death would not dare to break.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks again for reading! The next few chapters are all planned out, so updates should continue to occur regularly.<strong>


	6. Chapter 6: Forgotten the Rest

**AN: I was truly blown away by the reviews from last chapter. Thank you to everyone who has had such wonderful things to say, and I especially want to thank the guest reviewers who I can't directly reply to. Your encouragement brings such joy to the writing process, so thank you! Here's the next chapter as _my_ thank you to you all.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

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><p>Chapter 6: Forgotten the Rest<p>

The world started shaking the moment Jane's arms snaked around her, one hooked possessively around her waist and the other cradling the back of her head. Lisbon breathed deeply, trying to calm her body down from the emotional high she had just experienced. Once she had succeeded somewhat, she realized the shaking was coming not from the ground but from Jane.

"Oh my god," she whispered over and over. It seemed to be the only coherent phrase she could muster.

"Shhhh, Lisbon," said Jane, and he continued to make calming noises as he stroked her hair. "I called Cho—he's been listening the whole time. I'd imagine he's almost here, in fact."

"Cho?" said Lisbon, confused. Jane dug into the pocket on his pajamas that was set over his heart and handed her his cell phone, which was indeed in the middle of a call. She put it to her ear. "You heard the whole thing?"

Lisbon could make out sirens through the phone's speakers. "I heard everything after Jane said he spilt the coffee," came Cho's voice. "I'll be there in five." A beeping sound told her that the younger agent had hung up.

Lisbon pulled back to search Jane's face. "I can't believe you understood."

Jane looked at her like it was obvious. "You called me Patrick," he said slowly and deliberately. "We almost never call each other by our first names save for momentously emotional situations," he continued, "like when I shot you. I weighed the possible explanations for why you'd chosen to do so, figured Kirkland showing up at your doorstep was highly probable, and called Cho. Then I grabbed your gun, climbed out the window, and walked around the building."

They turned their heads in synchronization towards the sound of approaching sirens. Lisbon spoke in a low voice. "When you called me Teresa, I hoped you had understood."

"Quick thinking on both our accounts, I think," said Jane. He dropped his arms from her body as Cho's siren drew closer, and a minute later the agent himself had parked his car on the street in front of Lisbon's apartment.

"I called Sac PD and Rigsby and Van Pelt," Cho said by way of greeting. Sure enough, Lisbon heard the familiar sound of additional sirens in the distance. "They're going to want to hear the story. As do I. Is everything set the way it was when the shooting occurred?"

Jane and Lisbon stepped around Kirkland's body to approach Cho, and Lisbon purposely avoided looking down. Instead, she kept her eyes on Cho, who was dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt and looked rather less impassive than usual. If she hadn't understood the reason for Cho's current perturbation, she'd have guessed he'd been interrupted while reading F. Scott Fitzgerald or Bram Stoker.

"I dropped Lisbon's gun after I shot Kirkland," said Jane, indicating with his hand to where the gun had fallen and drawing Lisbon's attention back to the scene before them. "She kicked his gun away from him. Neither have been touched since."

"Okay," said Cho, pulling out a notepad and beginning to write furiously. "I heard most of the story, but I'm going to need you to start at the beginning."

By the time they'd finished filling Cho in, Rigsby and Van Pelt had arrived, along with multiple Sac PD officers. Van Pelt gave both Jane and Lisbon a hug, and Cho filled them in while Jane and Lisbon spoke to the officer in charge.

"Your gun will have to be taken in as evidence, Agent Lisbon," said the officer in charge, a Latina woman nearly as tall as Van Pelt, after they had finished going over their story a second time.

Lisbon nodded inattentively, not really comprehending much of the conversation. Jane thanked the officer and went off in search of Cho. Lisbon was vaguely aware of his missing warmth from her side before he returned half a minute later.

"Cho says it's going to be a while before they finish up here," said Jane. "If they need us for anything else, they'll call."

Lisbon stared at Jane's shoulder, attempting and failing miserably at focusing her attention. Everything around them was a blur: shapes and colors sped together. Jane gingerly put his hand under her chin and forced her eyes to meet his.

And though the rest of the world was blurred and distorted, he was crystal clear.

"Let's get out of here," he said, and for the first time since she'd heard the gunshot this morning she didn't feel like she was drowning.

* * *

><p>Jane told her to pack a bag with enough clothes and necessities for a week. For once she followed his orders without qualms, and they changed out of their pajamas and packed in record time. His blue Citroen was parked down the street, and Lisbon pretended not to notice Van Pelt's astute gaze following them as they walked to the car, both of them very obviously carrying a travel bag. But then they were off, Jane driving at his usual insane speed. Lisbon forgot every foul word she'd ever uttered about the Citroen; today, it was their means of escape.<p>

Neither Jane nor Lisbon spoke until they had turned onto the interstate going south. "I hope we're not headed to Mexico. I didn't bring my passport." She was only half joking.

"I could get you a fake one," he said, looking over at her. Something told her he wasn't joking at all.

"You obviously have a destination in mind, Jane. Where are we going?"

He tapped his left hand against the steering wheel, and Lisbon's attention was drawn to the wedding band that still adorned his ring finger. And suddenly she didn't have to ask their destination.

"We're headed to Malibu—to your house," said Lisbon.

"Is that alright?" asked Jane, genuinely concerned. "I've been paying someone to look after it all these years—keep the bedrooms habitable, tune the piano, tend to the gardens...that sort of thing. It's still a home, I can promise you that."

It struck Lisbon just how far their relationship had come in the past few weeks. Not only was Jane informing her of his plan before implementing it, but he was also asking permission to undertake the plan in the first place. "Yes, that's perfect. We needed to get away from..." Lisbon trailed off, not wanting to think of the events of that morning.

"We needed to get out of Sacramento," said Jane in agreement, "at least until we have a better understanding of the dangers we face there. Plus, I think a little distance from the city will help us figure out some things."

Lisbon's heart pounded in her chest, the beats resonating throughout her body. "What kind of things?" she asked.

Jane looked over at her quickly before turning his attention back to the interstate. "I think you have a pretty good idea," he said, his tone serious. But Lisbon watched as the corner of his mouth turned up, and for a second he looked wonderfully, gloriously happy—and Lisbon couldn't help but hope that they would indeed figure things out. A second later, the neutral mask was back, and all traces of joy vanished from his face.

"By my understanding of California geography," began Lisbon, "we have at least six hours on this drive. Perhaps we could use this time—"

But she was interrupted by the shrill sound of her cell. She looked at the caller ID, hoping it was someone she could ignore, but Van Pelt's name flashed across the screen. Lisbon put the phone to her ear.

"Lisbon," she said.

"Hey Boss," said Van Pelt. "We just finished up at your apartment. It's all been canvased and detailed, and we have pictures of everything. The body is being moved for autopsy, and we'll take care of cleaning up your front steps."

"Thanks Van Pelt," said Lisbon, and she sighed deeply.

"There's something else, Boss." This time it was Cho's voice, and Lisbon knew Rigsby was listening in as well. "I was looking over a file before we got called in this morning."

Jane indicated that he wanted to listen in on the conversation. "I'm going to put you guys on speaker so Jane can hear you too," Lisbon said. "Cho, what's up?"

"Partridge's autopsy files finally got released last night," said Cho. "Cause of death was blood loss from his split throat, as we suspected. But there was one thing that all of us thought was strange."

Lisbon's brow furrowed, and she looked at Jane in surprise before Cho continued.

"He had a tattoo on his left shoulder," said Cho. "Three red dots in a line."

"Partridge didn't seem like the type to get body ink," said Lisbon immediately.

"I've seen this kind of stuff in street gangs," said Cho. "Tattoos are a sort of entry ritual." Lisbon knew he was speaking from his previous experience as a member of one such gang.

Jane shook his head. "Partridge wouldn't be involved in a street gang. Not like the kind you're thinking of, Cho."

Rigsby spoke for the first time. "What if he was involved in a gang that wasn't really a gang?" he said.

"You mean like Visualize?" said Van Pelt.

"Like Visualize, but not them," said Rigsby. "Besides, their mark is the all-seeing eye, right? Wouldn't that be their tattoo if they were going to have one?"

"At any rate," said Jane, "it's worth checking out. It could be nothing."

"Or it could be something," added Lisbon.

"We'll take Partridge's picture to some tattoo artists I know who have connections with gangs," said Cho. "Maybe something will shake loose."

There was shuffling on the other end of the line, as though someone were gathering papers. "We'll call you right away if we get anything, Boss," said Van Pelt.

"Thanks," said Lisbon, and she hung up.

"This could be it," said Jane after a few minutes. "The piece that we've been missing from the beginning."

"You really think so?"

Jane looked over at her, and she wished he hadn't become so adept at hiding his emotions. She thought she could pick out some sadness in his features, but everything else was obscured.

"I don't know," he said, and turned his attention back to the road.

* * *

><p>Four hours later, Jane and Lisbon had stopped for lunch and continued on their journey south. Jane had just pulled out of a gas station when Lisbon's phone rang again.<p>

"Hey Boss, it's Rigsby. We stopped at four tattoo artists that Cho knew of. No luck at the first three, but we've been talking to the fourth guy for an hour now."

Lisbon immediately turned on speaker so Jane could listen as they pulled onto the interstate again.

"We showed him Partridge's picture and asked if he remembered drawing a red dot tattoo for him," continued Rigsby. "And get this: the tattoo artist, Michael Guion, seemed offended that we should ask. Apparently Guion is well-known in the Sacramento tattoo business; he has an eidetic memory, and he draws all of his tattoos from patterns he has stored in his mind. Never forgets a tattoo design."

"I'm willing to bet he never forgets the faces that go along with those tattoos either," said Jane, straightening up in interest. He pressed down on the gas pedal with too much enthusiasm, and as the car sped forward, Lisbon gave him a pointed look. Jane eased off the acceleration.

"You got it," said Rigsby. "Van Pelt and Cho are still talking with him, but we showed him pictures of the five remaining Red John suspects. Guion identified three of them—he says McAllister, Smith, and Bertram all have the same tattoo."

Lisbon breathed in deeply, her eyes wide. "There's no way in hell that's a coincidence," she said.

"That's what we thought," said Rigsby. "So we asked if he remembered drawing the tattoo on anyone else."

"And of course he does," said Jane, gripping the steering wheel with more force than was necessary.

"We're going through photos of CBI employees right now with Guion. When I left to call you, he'd already identified 43 additional names that all had the same red dots tattoo on their left shoulders. I'm assuming there will be more."

"What the hell does this mean?" asked Lisbon. She noticed vaguely her hand was shaking, causing the phone to tremor as she held it between them. Jane shot a worried glance at her, and she attempted to steady the hand.

Her question was left unanswered.

After a few seconds, Rigsby spoke again. "Listen, Boss, I'm going to get back to Cho and Van Pelt. We'll call you again when we have the final number."

Lisbon leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. "Rigsby was right: it _was_ a gang, but not really. This explains how Red John was always one step ahead of us. He had people in the CBI tampering with evidence or destroying it altogether."

Jane nodded. "That message we found painted on the wall in blood, one of the first years we worked together—"

Lisbon's eyes shot open. "'He is many,'" she quoted.

"Exactly." There was a pause, then he banged his fist on the dashboard in frustration. "_Damn it!" _he swore. "I should feel euphoric that we've managed to narrow down the list to three people, but in reality, we've just added at least 43 others who were involved in these crimes! And in my book, that makes them equally guilty."

"Jane…" whispered Lisbon, unsure and afraid of where he was going with this.

"I'm not planning the murders of 50 people, Lisbon. Don't worry about that. It's just that this information…it changes things."

"How?"

Lisbon watched the cars go by on the other side of the road as she waited for him to answer. It amazed her that those people could be completely oblivious to the horrific conversation that was taking place mere feet from them.

"It makes things more difficult. It's like trying to kill the hydra from Greek mythology—you cut off one head, two more grow back."

"You're saying that killing Red John wouldn't bring this thing to a close. One of his subordinates would just rise up to take over."

Lisbon ran a hand through her hair. She hadn't had time to style it that morning before they'd taken off, and her natural curls were beginning to frizz in the California heat. "What do you plan to do, Jane? Dismantle the whole CBI?"

Though she hadn't been serious, Lisbon could tell by the way Jane's expression turned hard that she wasn't too far off the mark. Her hands started to shake again.

This time, Jane reached over and took her left hand in his right. His thumb rubbed slowly over the back of her hand, and his warmth comforted her.

The shaking subsided, but her panic did not.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading! As always, any and all mistakes are mine.<strong>

**I also wanted to take this time to assure you lovely readers that I plan to stick around long after the series finale next week. I still can't believe our show is airing its final episode-but just because the series won't air on CBS anymore does not mean it's ending for me. I'm thinking ahead to my next multi-chapter story, and I can't wait to rewatch episodes with you guys. In other words, The Mentalist will never really be over because we'll keep it alive. I'm excited to start this journey with you all, just as Jane and Lisbon's next journey begins as well.**


	7. Chapter 7: Yours to Adore

**AN: Thank you all immensely for your support of this story. It's been such a joy getting to write for Jane and Lisbon and the team, and I'm so excited that this narrative resonates well with you all as well.**

**This chapter was definitely my favorite to write. I literally planned this story around a piece of dialog that Jane and Lisbon have near the end of the chapter, and I thoroughly enjoyed writing the scenes that led up to it. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I do!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

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><p>Chapter 7: Yours to Adore<p>

Jane pulled the Citroen into the driveway of his Malibu mansion in early evening. As he drove up to the house, Lisbon began to wonder how exactly Jane managed to maintain it—though it had been 10 years since anyone had lived there, the mansion still looked immaculate from the outside. She came to the conclusion that he obviously had money stashed away somewhere. _How else_, she wondered_, would he be able to afford taxes and upkeep on such a luxury house?_

She pushed the thought out of her mind when Jane shut off the engine and got out of the car. She watched him carefully, finding his movements fluid and easy. Something about the house, perhaps its familiarity, comforted Jane. However, she was well aware that other aspects of the house were far less comforting to him. She hoped he had painted over Red John's mark in the bedroom upstairs since the last time they'd visited.

Jane looked through the windshield at her, and Lisbon realized she had been caught staring at him. She got out of the car and helped Jane with the groceries they had picked up on the way here. Together they walked toward the front door, arms weighed down with produce bags.

Jane unlocked the door and ushered her inside first. He closed it with his foot behind them, still juggling the groceries, and said, "Kitchen's this way." She followed him down the hall.

He hadn't been lying about paying someone to watch the house for him. As Lisbon walked down the hall to the kitchen, she glanced at the living room. The floors appeared to have new polish on them, and the couches had been accented with colors that had only come into style within the past year. She continued down the hall. The picture frames on the walls grabbed her attention, all of them sans dust and still hung with great precision. She stopped to stare at one particular picture.

Lisbon hadn't been aware of the weight of the grocery bags until they were removed from her arms. Not knowing how long she'd been standing there, Lisbon looked over at Jane, smiling at him in thanks as he took the bags from her.

"I haven't seen many pictures of Charlotte," said Lisbon, indicating to the frame. "She was gorgeous, Jane."

"She was," agreed Jane. "That picture was taken a week before…a week before—she died. One of her first piano performances."

Lisbon looked closer and found that the piano at which Charlotte was seated appeared to be the same piano now sitting in the living room.

"What was she playing?" asked Lisbon, and they began to make their way into the kitchen.

"Prelude in C," answered Jane immediately. "Angela taught it to her. She was still working on it when…" he trailed off, obviously not comfortable with where he had been leading that sentence.

The kitchen opened up before them, and Lisbon helped Jane begin to sort through which items to put away and which to keep out for supper. "She must have been very good to start learning Bach at such a young age," Lisbon mused.

"I thought she was," said Jane with a sad smile. "But I've never had much talent for music, so I'm afraid I couldn't tell either way." He finished putting away the food, leaving the ingredients for pasta on the counter, and he made to fill up a pot with water to boil when Lisbon's cell phone rang. Jane immediately turned off the tap.

Lisbon put the phone on speaker. "Hey Van Pelt, what's up?"

"We finally finished talking to Guion," said Van Pelt, and her voice echoed around the kitchen. "He identified 46 other CBI employees, so that's 89 in total. However, that doesn't count people from other organizations—obviously McAllister isn't from the CBI, so we can't say for sure that only the bureau is affected." She paused to let that sink in. "What's our next move, Boss?"

Jane spoke before Lisbon could answer. "Watch over Guion," said Jane. "And do it personally—we know now we can't trust a CBI protective detail. When this news breaks, it won't be difficult to figure out who leaked the information."

"Are we going to a reporter or something, Jane?" asked Rigsby. "Who exactly is breaking this news?"

"Jane and I talked this over at length," said Lisbon. "We agree that the best way to handle this is to completely eliminate the CBI. Red John's group, whatever they call themselves, has infiltrated so far into the bureau that there's no way of salvaging it. Hell, even the director appears to be involved," said Lisbon, thinking of Bertram. She felt sick to her stomach. "That means, of course, that we have to go higher up."

"You want to take this to the FBI," said Cho. Lisbon pictured him leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest, and a stern expression on his face.

"I already have," said Lisbon. "After Jane and I talked, we decided that the sooner this is taken care of, the better. To the best of our knowledge, the FBI hasn't been touched by Red John yet, and we don't want to wait around until he decides to go there next. I got off the phone with someone at the DC office an hour ago. They're putting together a team to oversee this."

"A team headed by whom?" said Van Pelt, and Lisbon could guess the reason for her anxiety.

"They mentioned someone called Abbott," said Jane. "I'm vaguely familiar with him—his name comes up whenever the FBI threatens to take over the Red John case. He's an Iraq war vet. The only murky thing I could find on him was something covered up about his time in Rio Bravo when he was working to take down the drug trade there. Other than that, he seems clean—and he wants to keep it that way. Word is his wife is a sure thing for a job in the Department of Commerce in the next couple of years, and Abbott has to remain squeaky-clean in order for that to happen."

"So it's safe to say we can trust Abbott," said Lisbon.

"At least as far as FBI agents go," added Cho.

Lisbon leaned her forearms against the kitchen island and stared over at Jane, who still held the pot half-full with water. "Van Pelt, I need you to get a hold of Abbott and give him the complete list of names. He's going to take it from there." She paused before she continued. "I want you guys to be aware that doing this…it will most likely result in all of us losing our jobs."

"Not an issue," said Van Pelt immediately.

"Worth it," said Rigsby.

"Okay," said Cho.

Lisbon raised her eyebrows in surprise. "There's no going back from here."

"We knew that a long time ago, Boss," said Van Pelt softly, and she ended the call.

* * *

><p>Later that night, Jane had finished making pasta, which Lisbon had enjoyed far more than she'd expected. She found she rather liked domestic Jane, and Lisbon learned he felt the same way about her after he suggested that they share the guesthouse for the night. They'd been sleeping in the same bed together for a while now, and both of them knew neither would sleep as well without the other around. However, if Jane had wanted to sleep in the bedroom he had shared with Angela, Lisbon wouldn't have followed—that was holy ground as far as she was concerned, and she felt she had no right to intrude. As she followed him outside and to the guesthouse, Lisbon felt relieved at his suggestion.<p>

After they climbed into bed, Jane pulled her hand toward him and held it between his own. He fell asleep soon after that, calmed by Lisbon's presence beside him. Lisbon, however, could not sleep, and she watched the clouds twist around the moon through the window behind Jane. After an hour of this, she gave up and extracted her hand from Jane's, careful not to wake him. She padded out of the room, down the hallway, and out the sliding door that led to the gardens separating the guesthouse from the mansion.

Her bare feet froze against the cool grass beneath her, but she walked quickly to the main house and let herself inside. She immediately found herself at her destination and sat at the bench of the piano. After chastising herself for looking around to make sure she was alone, Lisbon tried out a few keys.

The notes echoed through the house, and the oversized mansion suddenly felt a lot less empty.

Lisbon continued to play, forming chord progressions and riffs as they came to her. It had been years since she'd touched a piano, but playing that night seemed to come more naturally than anything else in the world. As the notes continued to flow from her fingertips, Lisbon found herself humming along, and suddenly, words she had been writing in her head for weeks were manifested in song.

She sang softly, echoing the tender notes of the grand piano, of if onlys and daydreams and storybook endings. Though she had no doubts about whom she was singing, she was glad she wasn't playing the song for Jane. No doubt the melancholy lyrics would only pain him.

An hour later, the song was complete with full melody and lyrics. She tucked it away in her mind, knowing the haunting tune could never be forgotten. With a sigh, she slowly closed the cover over the keys.

* * *

><p>Lisbon slipped back into the guesthouse, closing the sliding glass door behind her as noiselessly as possible. She continued silently down the hall and into the bedroom. As she stepped over the threshold of the room, she was relieved to find Jane exactly the way she had left him, laying on his side with his torso facing her end of the bed.<p>

Lisbon slid into bed beside him, and she was startled when his arms reached for her.

Apparently he wasn't as asleep as she'd thought.

She wrapped an arm around his waist and curled into him. When he smiled against her hair, her heart leapt underneath his hand. She focused on that point of contact, his large hand over her sternum, as she tried to get her heart under control.

As she focused on his hand, she noticed that he didn't seem to be radiating warmth as he usually did. Lisbon touched her foot to his and discovered the same coldness. Understanding washed over her.

"You were watching me, weren't you?" she asked. "That's why your feet are cold. If you had been in bed, you'd still be warm."

Jane opened his eyes, and the whites around his irises stood out clearly to her against the night.

"I never would have guessed that you play piano, Lisbon," he said. "I admit, I was curious."

"You nearly figured it out," said Lisbon, reminded suddenly of a song and a dance in a stolen room. "I was surprised that you guessed trumpet."

Jane pulled her closer so that their faces nearly touched. She felt him speak rather than heard him.

"You have a lovely voice. I wish you would sing more often. I had no idea."

"There never was much cause for song, I suppose," said Lisbon.

"There's always cause for music," said Jane. "You wrote that piece yourself, didn't you?"

Lisbon nodded against him. "I was a music composition minor in college. These past couple weeks, the words kept coming to me. I didn't get the melody until the car ride today."

Jane's hand moved from her heart to her cross necklace, and he began to fiddle with it. "That was…that was absolutely beautiful, Lisbon," he said, and she could hear the awe in his voice. "I wish I could hear you sing every day."

It took her a while to comprehend his words. She gave up trying to control her heartbeat as it sped up again.

"And why can't you?"

Jane didn't answer right away, but she felt him tense. "So we're talking about this right now?"

"We appear to be," said Lisbon. Her nose bumped his as she shifted. "I think it's probably good timing, since we're going to dismantle the CBI tomorrow—and as soon as that happens, Red John will be yours. God knows when I'll see you again."

"Lisbon…" said Jane, and she could feel the pain in his voice.

"I knew what I was getting myself into," said Lisbon, resigned.

"I didn't," said Jane. "I thought I did, but I was wrong. Wrong on so many levels."

"What does that even mean, Jane?" she whispered.

"It doesn't matter," said Jane, and she could feel his lips move against hers. Not kissing, but there nonetheless. "But I thought I was keeping you safe by bringing you here. Turns out, I've actually put you in more danger."

"Cut the bullshit, Jane. I can take care of myself. What is this about?"

Jane swung a leg over her hip as though to ensure she wouldn't go anywhere. "When we expose Red John's association in the CBI, he's going to make a run for it," Jane began. "He's going to head south to the border. But first, he's going to stop here—to talk with me one last time."

"How the hell could you know that?"

Jane looked at her. "Because it's what I would do if I were him," he said simply. "So now I've brought you here, to the precise location where he'll be within 24 hours—even though my intentions were to keep the two of you as far away from each other as possible."

"You're forgetting I'm a cop, Jane. I can call it in. If Red John is really coming here, we could catch him. _We could end this_," she breathed.

"I don't want you anywhere near this house come tomorrow," Jane said, his voice steely. "You get out of here and leave everything to me."

"Damn it, Jane!" she said, and she hit her fist against his chest lightly in frustration. "That's absurd! Do you even hear yourself talking?"

His arms around her became almost uncomfortably tight.

"Something will go wrong, and you'll be the price," said Jane. "I won't let that happen, Lisbon!"

"Jane—"

"Listen to me! _Please!_ Lisbon, this ridiculous journey of mine—this, this quest for vengeance—it all started when a psychopath murdered one of the two women in this world I've ever been in love with. _I'm not about to let him end it the same way!_"

Jane breathed heavily, the weight of what he'd just admitted to pouring over him like a first monsoon. Lisbon's heart raced under his hand, reminding them both that tonight, they were alive.

"There's no way in hell you're going to get me to leave after that," said Lisbon, and she kissed him.

For a fraction of a second, Lisbon thought he would resist. Then he responded in full, pulling her on top of him and kissing her senseless. His hands, now warm from resting against her body, left caustic marks wherever he touched her, and Lisbon marveled at the sensation of running her hands through his hair. Jane rolled them over again, so that he was now above her. He kissed her lips slowly and pulled back before kissing her necklace over her heart.

"I love you," he said, and Lisbon saw the awe return to his eyes. "And you were right—there's no way in hell I'm letting you go."

* * *

><p><strong>I've noticed that many of my chapters end on rather sour notes, so I hope you enjoyed this change of pace! Also, the song that Lisbon plays really does exist: it's the song <em>Into the Blue<em> by Sara Jackson-Holman, the theme for this story. It's lovely: youtube it if you have a free minute.**

**Also, I've joined tumblr to better keep in touch with the fandom as we watch this week's finale. You can find me over there also as half agony and hope. **

**All mistakes are mine.**


	8. Chapter 8: Into the Blue

**AN: Hello again, Mentalist family! Thank you a million times over for your support of this story. It's been such a pleasure writing for this fandom, especially as our beloved show airs its final episodes. I'm glad to hear so many of you plan to help keep the show alive after the episode tonight. These characters will truly live on in each of us, as we continue to rewatch the show, post long discussions on tumblr, and celebrate what a special experience this is. So here's my gift to all of you for the finale night. Here's to new beginnings!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist. I did, however, borrow some dialog from the show for this chapter.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 8: Into the Blue<p>

"_I love you," he said, and Lisbon saw the awe return to his eyes. "And you were right—there's no way in hell I'm letting you go after that."_

Lisbon froze beneath him, and she blinked misty eyes in confusion.

"What…what did you say?" she asked, in a voice so low she was surprised Jane could hear her.

Jane looked down at her, his smile one of a man ardently and joyously in love. "Do you need me to say it again?" he asked, chuckling.

Lisbon nodded in shock. "I'm not sure it sunk in the first time," she said, and her breath hitched as Jane leaned back down to kiss her neck. He continued to kiss her, making his way up to the corner of her mouth, where he pressed the faintest of kisses teasingly.

"I love you," he said, lips a fraction of an inch from hers and his voice stronger and more sure than he had been the first time he'd uttered those words to her. "I love you, Lisbon, and I'm never letting you go."

"Yeah," said Lisbon, and she leaned up to capture his lips again. "I'm going to need to hear that a lot more in order for it to sink in."

Jane was happy to oblige her.

* * *

><p>Lisbon awoke once again with her head on Jane's chest, and she listened to the steady thump of his heart as she blinked her eyes open. She thought of the first time she had awoken in this position and marveled at the difference in the situations. The embarrassment of waking up in Jane's arms had been replaced by contentment, and she shifted slightly so that she could see his face.<p>

Piercing blue eyes met sea green, and he gave her a dazzling smile.

"Hi," he said.

"Hey."

His smile was too radiant for her to look at for long, and she ducked her eyes, examining his chest in the first light of dawn. She trailed her fingers across him hesitantly, still hardly daring to believe she had permission. The caustic feeling of his skin against hers returned in full force.

"How did you sleep?" Jane asked, and he grabbed her fingers off his chest to intertwine with his own.

"Well, someone prevented me from getting my full eight hours," said Lisbon shyly.

"Ah," said Jane, chuckling. "But was it worth it?"

Lisbon forced her eyes to meet his. "Very much so," she said, and a smile broke across her face.

Jane's expression of pure delight nearly broke her heart. "You're happy?" he said, disbelieving.

"I can't remember ever being so happy," said Lisbon. She tangled her feet with his, and a shiver went down her spine.

Jane saw something in her eyes, and his face became serious. "What's wrong?"

A tear escaped and ran down Lisbon's cheek. She blinked the moisture away. "You're not…you're not still planning on making me leave, are you?"

Jane reached a hand across to caress her face. "I thought I made that pretty clear last night," he said. "But if it needs saying out loud—no, Lisbon, I don't want you to leave. I want you right beside me. We're partners. Always."

"Partners, huh?" said Lisbon, and the tears she was crying were no longer because she was afraid. Jane kissed her softly.

Lisbon pulled away before things escalated.

"Well, partner," she said. "I have a plan."

* * *

><p>"I don't think I can do this."<p>

Lisbon looked at Jane with wide eyes, the panic she had tried so hard to keep at bay threatening to overwhelm her. She tugged at the sapphire blouse she wore in agitation and brushed her hair back from her face. Her hand shook as she dropped it back down to her side.

The day had passed in a blur, and now Lisbon and Jane stood in the entryway to his mansion. Starlight broke through the windows that lined the front door, flooding the corridor. It blinded Lisbon, as did the man standing by her side. By simply looking at him in his typical charcoal gray three-piece suit, Lisbon would never have guessed that tonight was anything special. She shivered with the knowledge that tonight was extraordinary for a number of reasons—the night they would catch Red John, for starters, and the night after Jane had told her he loved her.

Lying in bed with Jane that morning, she'd been unable to think straight. And in those moments of insanity, she'd come with an equally mad plan—a plan that could save them both.

They'd discussed her idea down to the most meticulous details for over an hour as the sun rose. After sun had appeared in full above the ocean, however, Lisbon had realized her reprieve was over, and she had disentangled herself from Jane to face the day. She'd called Cho to inform the rest of the team of the plan, and he had revealed that the news of Red John's secret organization had broken ten minutes earlier. The CBI was no more.

Lisbon pulled her attention back to the present. "There's a reason I didn't go into acting, Jane," she finally said.

Jane bowed his head as if in prayer, but Lisbon knew he was really attempting to get his eyes on her level. "This was your plan, Lisbon—and it's a good one. Better than I could have come up with." He cupped her face in his hands. "Don't think about it as a performance or Red John will see it like one. Make it real."

Lisbon looked at him sadly. "That's what I'm worried about," she said.

Jane nodded. "Then we're ready." He turned behind him to grab Lisbon's travel bag, and he handed it to her.

She took it from him. "You have the extra gun I gave you?"

Jane indicated to where he'd tucked the gun into his belt near his lower back. "And you have yours?"

Lisbon nodded. "He's out there, watching for me?"

"Yes. It's been more than enough time since the news broke this morning. He'll be here." Jane paused. "Good luck, Teresa. Love you."

The words shocked her now as much as they had the first time, and she knew if she stayed a second longer their whole plan would backfire as she crumbled. So instead of flinging herself into Jane's arms like she wanted, she arranged her features in the best imitation of Jane's emotionless mask she could muster and opened the door forcefully. She slammed it behind her and took off running towards Jane's Citroen, keys in hand.

Right on cue, the front door opened, and Jane rushed out. She didn't hear the door close behind him, and she knew he had neglected to shut it.

"Lisbon!" Jane called, the distress evident in his voice. She could hear him running behind her. "_Lisbon! _Lisbon, please!" She didn't turn around.

As Lisbon slowed to unlock the car and stow her duffel in the passenger seat, Jane caught up to her and grabbed her elbow. "Teresa, wait!"

And suddenly this performance they were putting on was all too real for Lisbon. She spun around angrily.

"What is it this time, Jane?" she said, squaring her shoulders. "One second you're ordering me to leave—and the next you're begging me to stay? What makes you think I want to listen anymore? God knows you never stayed when I asked you to!"

Jane's eyes glazed over, and the spider web lines emanating from their edges became more apparent.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry—I wish I could put that on a record and play it for you over and over _and over_ so that maybe someday it would sink in."

"You don't get to say I'm sorry," snapped Lisbon, "because I know you don't mean it. If you did, you'd be coming with me. You wouldn't be staying here, throwing away…throwing away whatever the hell we have just to catch Red John!" She opened the passenger side door to the Citroen and shoved the duffel inside. The slamming door echoed between them.

"We were a team, Jane!" she cried, tossing the keys to the ground with a clatter in rage. "A dysfunctional team—but we were a team. _We were partners._ You can't just tell me that you love me and…and…" she trailed off, worried where that sentence would go. "The thing is…" she continued in a whisper. "I'm tired of being used to further your hunt for Red John. You use me when it's convenient then push me away when you're through with me. Saying you love me and that you want to protect me is just an excuse to get me to leave so you can meet Red John by yourself."

Jane recoiled as her words attacked him, and Lisbon could tell the moment he realized their act was no longer just an act.

"I don't believe that you love me—and I don't think you believe it, either." And she pulled her arm from his, darted to the pick up the fallen keys, and strode over to the driver's side door.

Without looking at him again, Lisbon climbed into the Citroen and reversed out of the drive. She watched in her peripheral vision as he fell to his knees and rocked back on his heels.

The last view she had of him was through the rearview mirror.

* * *

><p>Lisbon drove, paying close attention to the directions Jane had given her. She nearly had to pull over to clear her vision, as her tears had burst through after she'd pulled out of the driveway. However, time was valuable today—more so than usual—and she couldn't afford to lose any.<p>

As soon as she'd lost sight of the house, she took the next turn that led her to the ocean. When she was as close to the water as she was going to get, Lisbon pulled the car over, grabbed her gun from the duffel bag, and sprinted through the dark for the sand. She told herself to relax.

Though she'd been nervous about the first part of her plan, the second stage absolutely terrified her because so much of it was left to chance. There were so many variables that couldn't be accounted for, and Lisbon said a soft prayer as she began to follow the beach back to Jane's house.

Lisbon had been certain—and Jane had agreed with her—that Red John would have had headed for Jane's Malibu mansion straight after news broke early that morning of the corruption of the CBI. She had also been sure that Red John—whoever he was—wouldn't approach Jane while she was still around. Lisbon was, as Jane had once said, a poster-child for the NRA, and it took no stroke of genius to predict that she'd be armed. Therefore, Red John wouldn't approach the house until she'd left it.

So Lisbon had had to leave the mansion in a manner which made it clear that she would not be returning. Thus the performance that hadn't actually been a performance. Ten minutes later, and Lisbon still felt the urge to break down over the things she'd said. And by the looks of it, Jane hadn't been unaffected either.

Her thoughts went to Jane, and she couldn't help but worry for him. They had counted on Red John coming alone—but what if he had brought an accomplice? In her mind, she pictured a faceless Red John pulling into the mansion's driveway and approaching the blond-haired man who was still kneeling there. She shivered as she imagined Jane inviting him inside to talk.

Lisbon quickened her pace through the sand, eager to return to Jane's side, and her phone buzzed with an incoming text.

_In position._

Lisbon breathed a sigh of relief at Cho's ever succinct phrasing. Though Lisbon hadn't asked the team that morning on the phone to become involved in her plan, Cho had volunteered them, and they'd raced from Sacramento to Malibu as soon as the phone call had ended. Though it would have been preferable to Lisbon to position them inside the house, there had been no way to accomplish that without the risk that Red John would see. Jane had said that Red John would be watching the house—and Lisbon agreed for safety's sake to keep the team positioned slightly beyond Jane's property line. She'd meet up with them where the seaside met Jane's land.

As her thoughts wandered, Lisbon tripped and fell forward onto the beach. She spit out a mouthful of sand as she pushed herself back up, and her eyes traveled away from the seaside and up onto the property adjacent to it. Jane's mansion came into her vision, lights aglow from the inside, and she hastened her stride.

In another minute, she had reached the property line, and she saw the three outlines that were Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt. They nodded to each other in greeting, each of them with weapons drawn and held low to their sides, and the team followed Lisbon as she headed up the pathway leading from the beach to the gardens. Lisbon lowered herself and moved quickly, the others mimicking her, and they soon passed the gardens. As the team stayed to the shadows and rounded the house to make for a window Jane had left open for them, Lisbon noticed the car in the driveway.

It was lit, and Bertram sat in the passenger's seat.

Lisbon motioned to Van Pelt and Rigsby. They glanced at the car and then at each other, and they began to backtrack around so they could approach Bertram without being seen.

Lisbon looked over at Cho, who nodded, and they kept their backs to the house as they neared the open window. Lisbon climbed through first and landed in a crouch. Cho dropped next to her a second later. They straightened up in unison and started to make their way down the hall to the living room. Voices floated down the corridor.

"You probably have a lot of questions for me, huh?" Lisbon jumped at the voice—the first time she had heard McAllister speak as Red John—and she felt Cho tense at her side.

"I have no questions. You're an evil, sexually perverted sociopath with pathetic delusions of grandeur. The rest is just details."

Lisbon listened as Jane continued to keep McAllister talking. In another few steps, she and Cho had reached the area where the hallway opened into the living room. Jane spoke again.

"I'd call it the ravings of a squalid egomaniac," he said.

"You see?" spat McAllister. "For no reason at all, you're rude and contemptuous. That's why your wife and kid are dead. Who are you to butt in here and make obnoxious judgments about me? Who are you? Hmm? Who are you? Nobody. Nobody. You didn't know me. You don't know me. You have no idea. Here's your problem, Pat. You're a smart man, but you are arrogant. You can't imagine someone smarter than you."

Lisbon could picture Jane's smile as he answered. "That's where you're wrong," he said softly, almost proudly. "There _is_ someone smarter than me, here in this house. But it's not you."

Lisbon looked at Cho, and together they turned the corner of the hallway and took in the scene. Jane and McAllister stood at opposite ends of the room, each holding a gun pointed at the other. McAllister's eyes moved from Jane to Cho and then to Lisbon, and for a second Lisbon saw panic in his expression before he collected himself.

"Clever trick," he said, still aiming the gun at Jane, and Lisbon walked slowly to Jane's side. She kept her weapon trained on McAllister. "That was quite a performance you two gave."

Lisbon's eyes narrowed. "That's the thing, McAllister," she said.

Jane smiled wryly. "It was no performance. There was no trick."

There was a second when McAllister's mask faded, and a look of doubt crossed his face. As quick as the look had come, however, it disappeared, and the true face of a madman was broadcast to all those in the room. McAllister's arm moved a fraction of an inch as his finger went to pull the trigger, the gun still aimed at Jane. But Lisbon's instincts were quicker than McAllister's trigger finger, and she fired three shots that hit him squarely in the chest. Cho did the same. Jane was slower, but his aim was just as true—a last single bullet hole appeared in the middle of McAllister's forehead. His body fell.

Lisbon held her hand out for Jane's gun, and she set both down safely before turning to him. Jane, looking faint, reached out to grab the piano in order to steady himself, and Lisbon grabbed his arms to lower him slowly to the ground.

Cho dialed 911 as Lisbon sunk to the floor next to Jane, and a loud slam told her that Rigsby and Van Pelt had burst through the front door. Sure enough, Rigsby appeared on the scene a heartbeat after, scanning the room with his gun and Van Pelt not far behind him. As they took in the events that had taken place, Rigsby opened his arms to Van Pelt, who turned into him. Cho continued to talk to the operator.

Lisbon felt Jane shaking beside her, and she pressed their foreheads together so she could focus on his eyes. Cho's voice disappeared, and all she could hear was Jane's steady breathing.

"Lisbon," he said, his voice dazed and barely audible. "It's over. It's done. We're okay."

"We're okay," she echoed.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for sticking with this story! I have one or two more chapters to tie things up, and then I'll begin working towards my next multichapter story for you all. Though I'm insanely excited about that story, I think I'll be posting a one shot before then...so stay on the lookout for both of those things!<strong>


	9. Chapter 9: Would've Said Yes

**AN: Hello everyone! Thanks for sticking with this story (and for checking out my White Orchids one-shot). We have such a fantastic and supportive fandom, and I'm blessed to be a part of it. The situation that I explore in this chapter really intrigued me, and I hope you like what I've done with it.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

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><p>Chapter 9: Would've Said Yes<p>

Lisbon was beginning to feel claustrophobic.

She'd been in the same interrogation room for over an hour with nothing to do besides stare at the two-way mirror which only revealed her ghost-like image back at her. One window to her right might have afforded her a view of the Malibu PD bullpen, but the blinds had been drawn to prevent her looking out. Lisbon sighed. She'd been figuratively in the dark since the moment MPD had showed up at Jane's mansion several hours before—and the darkness seemed to be becoming almost literal as well, she thought, as her eyes glanced up at the single flickering lightbulb above her.

She wished Jane were beside her.

But that wasn't to be. As soon as McAllister had dropped to the floor, Cho had gotten on the phone with Dennis Abbott, the FBI agent now in charge of the Red John case. Abbott had immediately grabbed a red-eye flight to Malibu from his field office in Austin, but in the meantime he had asked local California FBI agents and police officers to preserve the crime scene. Apparently this Abbott was as by-the-book as they went, as his first order to the agents acting in his stead was to separate the witnesses so he could interview them individually and see if their stories matched up. Lisbon rolled her eyes at the thought. As if her team were involved in the Red John association. _Give me a break._

But she understood where Abbott was coming from. In fact, if she were the agent in charge, she would probably have done the same thing to ensure the case was handled properly.

This knowledge didn't lessen her impatience with the situation.

Lisbon worried for Jane. When the FBI and Malibu PD had shown up at his mansion and demanded her team be taken back to MPD headquarters in different squad cars, Jane hadn't handled the news of his and Lisbon's impending separation with his usual good graces. Instead, he'd gone deathly pale and tried to reach out for her. When an agent had intervened in order to lead them away from each other, Jane had struck out, smacking the agent alongside the head. This, of course, had triggered multiple other agents to come running to subdue him, and he'd eventually been forced into a MPD vehicle in handcuffs. Lisbon didn't think she'd ever forget the way he had attacked the agent or the animalistic panic in his eyes, both very uncharacteristic of him.

She understood why he had acted in that manner, however. When laying out their plan to trap Red John, neither Lisbon nor Jane had thought much about what came after. It should have been obvious to them both that there would be legal consequences for their actions. This meant involvement with the California police—some of whom were very likely involved in Red John's organization but hadn't yet been exposed. This thought had obviously occurred to Jane, who'd realized the ramifications of their plan a second before he'd felt them. Letting Lisbon be placed into California police custody was evidently not high on Jane's list of priorities. Lisbon realized that Jane had acted uncharacteristically in order to protect her, and the thought was accompanied by a tightening sensation in her chest.

She felt like crying.

Lisbon's stomach rumbled, the sound echoing around the empty room. She glanced at her watch and found the time to be past one in the morning. Lisbon dropped her head into one hand, her elbow propped up on the table, and wished she hadn't elected to skip dinner that evening.

The door to the interrogation room opened, and a tall African American man wearing square glasses stepped in. Lisbon looked up at him blankly.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, Agent Lisbon," he said in a deep, calm voice as he walked towards her. He shook her hand, and despite his unreadable exterior, she felt genuine warmth exude from him, as though he were genuinely concerned for her. "I'm Dennis Abbott, with the FBI. I've been assigned to take over the Red John case. No doubt you will have worked out the reasons I had for the orders I gave."

Lisbon nodded. "No apologies are necessary," she said. "I want this put to bed cleanly just as much as you do."

"Good, good," said Abbott, smoothing a hand over his tie as he sat down opposite Lisbon. "I just finished speaking with Patrick Jane," he continued. "He's very eager to see you."

"No doubt you will have worked out the reasons for that."

Abbott nodded, and his eyes locked onto hers. "I am very concerned about how far this so-called Blake Association has spread in California law enforcement," he said. "And I told Mr. Jane as much. Between the three of us, I'm also concerned about the possible involvement of some California FBI agents. I realize this information will not make you more willing to trust me. Unfortunately, there is not much I can say to rectify that. My actions will have to suffice instead."

Lisbon nodded. It occurred to her that by admitting she had no reason to trust him, Abbott had just given her one.

"Please walk me through your events of what happened this evening. I'd like to make sure they match with what I've heard from your team and Mr. Jane."

Lisbon explained their plan briefly but completely, from their argument on the driveway to doubling back around to meet the team to framing McAllister in Jane's living room. Abbott asked questions when he sought more detail, presumably to check her story against the stories of her team. Once Lisbon reached the point where the Malibu police had arrived, Abbott cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"That's alright, Agent Lisbon. I have enough. I need to gather your team to talk some things through, but I'm very confident that this version of events will stand. Before we can chat, however, Mr. Jane is still in custody—there is the small matter of him assaulting a federal agent," said Abbott, and Lisbon could swear she saw his eyes twinkle. Abbott looked at her knowingly, and Lisbon wondered how much this man had been able to gather about her and Jane's relationship.

"After I spoke with him, the agent agreed to drop charges against Mr. Jane, but we left him in the other interrogation room to stew a bit first. Would you like to see him and deliver the good news?"

He stood up as Lisbon nodded, and he opened the door and ushered her through. "Follow me, then," he said, and he led them down the hall. Abbott motioned to a door. "Through here," he said. "Meet me back in the bullpen in five minutes."

Lisbon took a deep breath and opened the door. She got a glimpse of Jane, head bowed and resting against handcuffed hands, before he looked up at the sound of her intake of breath. The worry in his eyes subsided immediately, and he stood to greet her.

Without a word, he raised his handcuffed hands over her head and hugged her to him. Lisbon felt the chill of the metal handcuffs through her blouse, but she dismissed the thought. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him fiercely.

"They wouldn't tell me anything about you," whispered Jane against her forehead. "I've been panicking for hours, worried that…"

"I'm fine," said Lisbon, and she sighed deeply, relaxing into his embrace. "I'm fine. Everything's fine."

* * *

><p>Five minutes later, the entire CBI team—Lisbon, Jane, Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt—were gathered around a makeshift conference table in the Malibu PD bullpen. Lisbon had removed Jane's handcuffs, and all the other cops, save for Abbott, had gone home for the night. The CBI team sat facing Abbott, all with looks of exhaustion on their faces. Abbott stood, shoulders back, and addressed them.<p>

"As you all know, the FBI has taken over the Red John case from the now-defunct CBI," he began. "I commend you for your actions regarding McAllister. Not only did you manage to put an end to his work, you exposed a great number of his so-called acolytes."

Abbott began to pace around the table. "However much I would like to put McAllister's file away and never touch it again, we all know that his reach extends further than we are likely aware at this point. Agent Lisbon, though your team identified many members of the Blake Association, there's no doubt that more are out there. This leaves me with two very important things I need to address with you all." He stopped pacing, turned his back to the nearest wall, and leaned against it.

"Here's the first. My team in Austin is now responsible for tracking down the remainder of these individuals. Because we don't yet know the extent of the Red John operation, I'm assuming this process will take a year at least. For legal reasons, I can't have any of you involved in this search."

Lisbon glanced over at Cho, who was stoic as always, and at Rigsby and Van Pelt, who were sitting shoulder to shoulder.

Abbott continued. "I want to assure you that I will track down every remaining individual with ties to McAllister and make sure the system deals with them accordingly. However, as I said before, _this will take time_. This brings me to the second issue I would like to speak with you all about."

Abbott looked from Lisbon to Jane. "We are in the process of rounding up the involved CBI members, but we don't know how many members of the Blake Association are out there still. However, it is common knowledge that you five were involved in exposing the association. This places you all in a certain amount of danger. If it were my team in your place, I would advise them to get the hell out of the state of California."

Lisbon turned her attention from Abbott to Jane, whose expression had turned dark and hard. His eyes narrowed as Abbott continued to speak.

"Obviously, the FBI can offer you a certain amount of protection—but as I believe that you all know these people as well or better than we do, you're probably capable of protecting yourselves. One thing I would like to mention is that Quantico is on the other side of the country; it's a good location if you're looking at starting over. We'd be glad to work with any of you if you had an interest in joining the FBI. That offer will still be valid a year, two years from now. In the meantime, you have my number. I'll keep in touch."

* * *

><p>Both Jane and Lisbon slept fitfully that night, though they managed to catch a couple hours of deep sleep in the early hours of the morning. Despite the late night they'd had, Lisbon woke with the sun, and she opened her eyes to find a wide-awake Jane scrutinizing her.<p>

"I hate hotel rooms," said Lisbon, looking around the room they had crashed in late last night after neither of them had wanted to return to the mansion. It was extraordinarily ordinary. "I never understood why you lived in one."

"It was easier," said Jane, and he didn't elaborate.

Lisbon returned his scrutiny. He reminded her of the Jane that had greeted her with a hug before he had pretended to shoot her—messy hair, erratic eyes, and slight stubble. "You're worried," she said.

Jane's eyes became misty. "I can't stay here, Lisbon," he said, and his voice was frantic, like he wanted to get the words out as fast as possible. "I need to get away—get away from this madness. I'll go crazy. I can't stay."

Lisbon nodded. "I understand, Jane. _I understand_."

"I can't stay, but I can't leave you again."

Lisbon breathed in sharply, and she put a hand over his forehead, then smoothed his hair out of his eyes. "Are you asking me to come with?"

"Would you like to?"

"We'd come back, right? Sometime? It doesn't have to be soon, but…but we wouldn't leave forever, right?"

"Of course we would come back," said Jane. "When it's safe again—when we're ready, we'd come back."

Lisbon smiled. "Okay," she said. "Yes. Yes, of course I'll come with."

Jane's answering grin gave her hope.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading! As always, any mistakes are mine.<strong>

**I have one more chapter planned for this story, so keep an eye out for the epilogue. After that, I think I've got a sequel in the works...**


	10. Epilogue: Across the Sand

**AN: Hi everyone! I apologize for the late update to this story; I had intended for it to be up on Wednesday, but it proved trickier to write than I anticipated. I'm hoping the extra wait will be worth it for you all. Thanks again for your support of this story, especially to those who leave guest reviews which I can't reply to.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

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><p>Epilogue: Across the Sand<p>

Out near the horizon, slightly below the sinking sun, Lisbon could make out the first signs of approaching land. The ferryboat rocked beneath her, and she attempted to push thoughts of seasickness out of her mind. Lisbon concentrated on the slight breeze that touched her sundress to the backs of her legs, and the sensation of nausea gradually faded. She'd never work in the Navy, but at least she was growing accustomed to travel by boat.

Lisbon smiled and leaned against the railing that bordered the ferry. Her mind wandered to retrace her journey from California to paradise, which she had embarked on with Jane a mere fortnight ago. She titled her head down and allowed another smile to spread across her face.

Two weeks ago, Jane and Lisbon had stopped briefly in Sacramento to gather some essential belongings and to set other affairs in order. Jane had moved his possessions—albeit few as they were—into Lisbon's apartment, permanently abandoning his previous hotel skulking grounds. He'd made arrangements to allow them to keep up on Lisbon's rent which involved all sorts of untraceable payment methods—a few of which Lisbon suspected might be slightly illegal—so that tracking their whereabouts would be nearly impossible. But despite the secrecy surrounding their movements, Lisbon felt oddly free.

They'd headed south from Sacramento after each of them had packed a single travel bag. Lisbon had wondered if they were heading somewhere in Mexico, but after a few long days of travel they had moved further south. Though she wasn't sure of their final destination, Lisbon didn't really care. She knew Jane had been planning an escape for some time, and any destination he picked was fine by her.

Her thoughts turned to Jane as the ferry crossed a particularly rough patch of water. Gripping onto the railing tightly in order to stay upright, it occurred to Lisbon that despite their fourteen consecutive days of being in close proximity to each other, neither had broached the topic of the ordeal they'd recently been through. She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised. Jane, like herself, was an intensely private person. She thought it would take a great deal of time before either of them was ready to open up to the other about the events that had taken place in Malibu.

However, this line of thought reminded her that there was one topic of conversation between her and Jane that was roughly two weeks overdue. As she got up the courage to turn back into the ferry's cabin and seek him out, a pair of strong arms wound around her waist from behind her.

"I missed you," said Jane, squeezing her waist and moving his arms to rest over her chest. Lisbon leaned back into him. Even after two weeks, he still felt bare without his usual vest to accompany his shirt.

"I only came out here twenty minutes ago," said Lisbon, and she rolled her eyes.

"And that was about nineteen minutes too long to have gone without your company, in my opinion," said Jane. He began to kiss the back of her neck.

Lisbon turned in his arms. "You're quite needy, you know that?" she asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Oh, I'm quite the opposite, love," said Jane. "There's only one thing I need, and luckily for me, she happens to be in my arms."

Lisbon felt a fluttering sensation in her abdomen as she took in his words, especially that of the new endearment. She blushed and ducked her head.

"You're pleased," said Jane, and she could hear the awe in his voice. She was becoming more and more accustomed to the idea that _she _was the one responsible for that wonder. "Guess I should call you 'love' more often, love."

Lisbon didn't believe it was possible for her to blush any more than she already had, but she felt the heat on her face intensify. "Are you going to tell me where we're headed anytime soon, Jane?"

"We're here," said Jane, indicating to the land which loomed ever closer in front of the ferry. "At least, we're almost here," he added. "But admit, Lisbon, you've enjoyed getting here. It's been an adventure through paradise—palm trees, sandy beaches, never knowing what the day will bring."

He looked intensely at her eyes for a second, trying to get a good read on her. He tapped one sandaled foot in confusion. "Is everything alright, Lisbon?"

Lisbon leaned against the metal bar behind her, and Jane's arms moved from her body to the railing, framing her on either side. "Everything's fine," she began slowly. "I was just thinking…I wanted to apologize for those things I said right before—right before I stormed out. The last thing I would ever want to do is intentionally hurt you…but that's exactly what I had to do that night. And it kills me."

Jane's brow furrowed, and for a rare moment she could read everything about him. His face revealed that he'd forgiven her for those words long before, but she could still see the hurt she'd caused him. And suddenly she knew that that hurt wouldn't go away with a simple apology.

"There's nothing to apologize for, Lisbon," said Jane finally. "You saved us both that night." And he pulled her into his arms. Lisbon sighed into him, and the ferry crew began to make preparations to dock.

She tried to push away any residual uneasy feelings she had about the hurt she'd caused him that night. Wounds didn't heal overnight, she told herself. They needed time.

Lisbon smiled as she felt Jane's hand weave through her hair.

It seemed time was one thing they would have plenty of.

* * *

><p><em>One week later<em>

Though she wasn't touching the keys with much force, the quiet notes of the piano echoed around the modest apartment. Lisbon smiled as her fingers performed the delicate choreography and the song emerged. She'd have to ask Jane how he had managed to find such a gorgeous piano in such a small South American town way out in the middle of nowhere. She imagined it had involved inordinate amounts of charm and money, and the thought made her smile wider.

The piano had been the one thing she had allowed Jane to splurge on, mostly because she knew he enjoyed listening to her as much as she enjoyed playing. The apartment which housed the piano—and themselves—was far less ostentatious. The kitchen was tiny, as was the single bathroom, but there was a decent-sized family room. Large windows adorned the only bedroom, affording them a view of the beach that connected to their property. They'd watched the sun rise over the beach yesterday morning while tangled up in each other's arms in bed. Though their material belongings were sparse, life was paradise.

And Lisbon couldn't imagine anything more perfect.

A shadow fell across the keys, and Lisbon knew Jane had propped himself against the door to the family room behind her. She finished the song without acknowledging his presence. Once the final note hung in the air, Lisbon spoke.

"You're staring at me again."

She saw the shadow on the piano move, and she knew Jane had pushed himself away from the door. The weight of his hand left a soft pressure on her shoulder, and he sat down on the bench next to her.

"To be honest," Jane said as he began to play a simple scale with tentative fingers, "I'm still getting over the fact that I'm _allowed_ to stare now."

"I don't believe I ever said I would allow such a thing," Lisbon quipped, her hand covering his as it moved up the keys.

Jane chuckled. "But you encourage it."

"_I do not!_" said Lisbon, feigning an expression of outrage.

"You secretly like when I stare at you," said Jane. "Just as you like when I kiss the corner of your mouth, and when we—"

Lisbon blushed and cut him off, knowing his thoughts were most likely far from innocent. "Okay, Jane, I get it—apparently I'm completely enamored with you."

"Damn straight."

"Jane!"

"Oh, I'm completely enamored with you as well, love—don't you ever forget that."

Lisbon took her hand off of his where it rested on the piano and tucked her bangs behind her ear. "I don't think I'll ever forget that. You seem to tell me so fairly often."

"Making up for lost time, my dear," said Jane, and he leaned in to kiss her.

He pulled back far too soon for Lisbon's liking. She pouted as he asked, "What song were you playing? It sounded familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it without the words."

Lisbon smiled at him with her eyes. "Oh, you'll like this one," she said, and she started the song over.

She could tell Jane hadn't identified the song after she'd played the introduction. His eyes stared questioningly at her fingers as she played, confused by her transposition. She couldn't blame him: her version was slower and lacked the guitar which had been featured so prominently in the original.

Recognition finally graced Jane's features when she began to sing the first verse. She heard his slight intake of breath, and she wondered if he was remembering their stolen dance to the song she now played for him. All those years ago, she'd been reluctant; he'd been insistent.

Lisbon was glad she had caved.

She made it halfway through the chorus before Jane caught her hand and pulled her away from the piano. She turned naturally into his arms, her head on his shoulder, and they swayed to a phantom melody.

Lisbon breathed in deeply, inhaling scents of Jane and the sea. She wondered vaguely how she had been so blessed, and her thoughts flashed through weeks of memories. One stood out in her mind: a non-conversation between two friends who had held injured hands and finally agreed to grant each other the truth.

How would things have turned out had they not agreed that day to tell each other the truth? To step into the blue? Would she still be somewhere in the US, drinking a glass of wine and pining for Jane? Would he be here, by himself and pining for her?

Lisbon pulled herself back to the present and focused on Jane's warm form pressed against hers. It wouldn't do to dwell on thoughts of what ifs and if onlys, she realized, since what she had was so much better than she could have hoped for.

Jane stopped spinning them, and Lisbon looked up to meet his eyes. She smiled a half-smile at him, pleased when he returned the other half, and flipped her right hand over so that his left lay on top.

Several weeks ago, that hand had been cut and bloodied; her wrist had been broken. Now only silvery scars remained. They'd carry those scars of their journey forever, she realized.

But at least, finally, they had begun to heal.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks again for reading, everyone! This story (and the dear readers who have followed it) have meant so much to me. I'm honored that you all have enjoyed going on this journey with me.<strong>

**In the meantime (while I map out in detail where I want the sequel to go), I would love any requests/prompts you guys have for Jane x Lisbon oneshots. I want to write some of those while I have the chance before I dive into writing the sequel, so let me know what you'd like to see!**


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